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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 



Clia}). Copyright No. 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



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Kodaks 




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BY 
GUY ALBY BUELL 


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Published by Record Publishing Co. 
Stockton, California. 1900. 



1103 



JLib*-ary of Conareaa 

"I Wo Copies Received 
3 



£. Copy right entry 



1901 
- " X 

SECOND COPY 

Oedvftrod to 

ORDER DIVISION 
JAiN 8 1901 



T53ro3 



COPYRIGHTED 

BY 

GUY ALBY BUELL 

1900 



This volume is respect- 
fully dedicated to the 
various personalities 
whose idiosyncrasies 
are ever an inspiration, 
to immortalize them 
in "verse and worse." 



MY AMERICA. 



Grand, all so grand, my America, 

Thy fertile valleys, thy rolling plains, 

Teeming with wealth and happy homes, 

Reaches from main to main. 

The pilgrim, battling for freedom's right, 

Planted his banner on thy rocky strand, 

Bent on his knee and thanked his God 

Who guided him unto this glorious land. 

Built he a temple in the forest wild. 

Tilled he the rich, prolific land. 

Fought he for principle and right, 

Died he with sword clenched in his rigid hand. 

Then torn with jealousies of self, 

This nation rocked on a wave of civil strife, 

Upon the altar of fair fame. 

Gave up its youth for Freedom's sacrifice. 

At last, this inward conflict quelled, 

Hope, with its guidon held on high, 



KODAKS. 

Waved forth the oHve branch of peace, 
And pointed to a haven in the starry sky. 
Though hearts were sore and seemed forsaken, 
They strove to honor our old flag; 
They built their faith upon its stars and stripes; 
Its folds in infamy they'll never drag. 
As years rolled by the spirit of the vanquished, 
Embittered by those years of war and pain, 
Was soothed and calmed by lapse of time. 
Though pent up anguish in their hearts re- 
mained. 
But lo, behold, from out the ocean foam. 
Comes call so plaintive from a race of slaves, 
That every heart bounds with a fierce resolve 
To crush the life from domineering knaves. 
From North to South, from East to West, 
The call to arms is answered with a will; 
The Blue and Gray, shoulder to shoulder stand. 
The slave to save, the tyrant's hand to still. 
Once more the calm of peace steals o'er our land. 
United in our hearts we stand to-day. 
No North, no South, no East, no West, 
All with one flag and one country. 
Grand, all so grand, my America; 
From ocean to ocean you stretch your arms, 
And cluster in them reunited children, 
Shielding them from all hapm. 



IDEALITY. 



Men and women, each and all, seek happiness, 
and their ideality paints for them a butterfly 
they name Pleasure. Some paint it in a gro- 
tesque combination of colors and turn it loose, 
then try to catch it again, but they forget to tie a 
string to it and away it soars out of their reach. 
They try in vain to paint another like it, but can- 
not attain the proper coloring, and finally give 
it up, spending their allotment of years in en- 
deavoring to capture the gay butterfly that is 
ever just out of reach. There are others who paint 
their moth a hue that matches their nature, and 
its colors harmonize with their circumstances. 
It never attempts to leave them, and day by day 
they enjoy its tints and draw a pleasure from its 
companionship that could never be gleaned were 
the colors brighter. Each and every day they 
live and enjoy life, and the life turned from the 



KODAKS. 

butterfly comparison into facts and explained 
as such, means that an ideal of happiness should 
be based upon the means and advantages within 
reach, to enjoy them to their uttermost and be 
contented without wasting time and comfort 
building castles in Spain that are sure to tumble 
whenever struck by the light of reason. 



THE GOLD SEEKERS. 



Let us turn back a page of time, 
And endeavor to jot, not a fancy in rhyme. 
But some facts of that era not long ago, 
When gold was discovered, and all too slow 
Was the lagging pace of an emigrant train 
Wending its way o'er the trackless plain. 

To that land of promise — the Golden West — 
For the precious metal all were in quest. 
There's many a grave on the rolling plain 
Holding the form of an emigrant, slain 

By the treacherous redman — that sneaking 

foe, 
Whose shallow soul has no sense of woe. 
Hid in the depths of the billowy main 
Are friends of those who crossed the plain; 
Who succumbed to the heat of the tropic zone, 
And in coral bed found their last long home. 
Those who withstood the hardship and storm 



KODAKS. 

Of a voyage around rough old Cape Horn, 
When safely within the Golden Gate 
Shouted for joy, and with spirits elate, 
Shouldered their picks and pans and stores. 
And hastened away from the ocean's shores 
To the inland rivers and mountain streams, 
The metal of commerce from them to glean. 
They did not ask, when they staked a claim, 
The record of neighbors, or even their name. 
And all were welcome to come and go — • 
Provided they hoed in their rightful row. 
It was sorrow for man, and a dismal day 
If by chance his greed should lead him astray ; 
For more than one, in slip-noosed rope, 
Rued the day he left for the Golden Slope. 
There was always a bar in the mining camp. 
And the weary miner at night would tramp 
Through tlie gravel and bush to squander his 

dust. 
For the simple reason that it seemed he must. 
There they found sports, who, with games of 

cards. 
Raked in the dust of the bearded pards, 

Who sought their own store of wealth to in- 
crease. 
And did not suspect the gambler would fleece. 
The tragedies of those old-time camps, 

10 



KODAIKS. 

When the bad man shot out the flickering lamps. 
If recorded and shown on the stage in play. 
Would last the world forever and a day. 
There were deeds of honor in those olden dayS, 
Though shown in a miner's uncouth ways, 
And many the lesson they taught to men 
In those weird, low-ceiling gambling dens. 
When they sought the part of ruffian to play, 
For on sunny hillside they were laid away, 
To sleep until Gabriel blows his horn 
On that far-ofif resurrection morn. 
Bret Harte, in his "Luck of Roaring Camp," 
Tells how the gambler was made to tramp, 

How the snows of the Sierras covered his face, 
While his epitaph, written upon an ace, 
Was pinned to the bark of a mountain pine 
By a dagger, driven between the lines. 

This shows, perhaps, the worst of the life — 
The gambling rough with his Bowie knife ; 
For the delvers in depths of mountain ravine 
Felt over them glide the shimmering sheen 

Of the pleasure, they'd give to far-away folk; 
How they'd lift from their neck cold poverty's 
yoke ; 
How for sorrows of the past they'd fully atone, 
For man can never find pleasure alone. 
Many a year has come and gone 



KODAiKS. 

Since the caverns of gold were made to yawn. 
To yield to the mortals, who, turning the 

streams, 
'Found wealth far beyond their wildest dreams. 
Now where once they flocked with rocker and 

pick, 
Is heard the stamp mills, clickety click. 
Grinding the quartz from a deepening mine 
Into atoms of dust like a powder fine ; 

For massive machinery has taken the place 
And distanced the miner of old in the race 
For wealth and power, excepting the few 
Who care not for tricks that are modern and 
new, 
Because the strike was never made, 
Yet they struggle along, and are never afraid 
But that some time they'll strike it rich 
In some nook or cranny of abandoned ditch. 
You can find these hermits at any time, 
Living in huts near an old-time mine; 
And though age has silvered their locks with 

gray, 
They prospect the canyon every day. 

And reflect at night what a wonderful scope 
Has man who lives on the Golden Slope. 
Who knows what a pocket those old boys have 
struck, 



KODAKS. 

When you figure the ins and outs of luck? 
For they've picked out their Hfe in a simple 

way; 
Have panned when the sun shone bright and 
gay; 
Have rocked when the earth was cradled by 

night, 
Until time has shoveled them out of sight. 



la 



FAT JACK AND SLIM JIM. 



There is a little drama that was written long 
ago, not by Shakespeare, but by an ordinary 
mortal. This drama is known as "Fat Jack and 
Slim Jim," and my reason in calling attention to 
it is, that almost any hour of the day or night 
you can see it being played on our streets. Fat 
Jack and Slim Jim were boys together, grew 
up together, but did not broaden out together. 
That qualification was reserved for Jack, while 
the slim portion of the programme was well 
taken care of by Jim. Fat Jack prospered, be- 
came wealthy and powerful, while Slim Jim 
retrograded in like ratio. Fat Jack cared not 
for the friend of his boyhood, and treacherous 
memory compelled him to ignore Slim Jim 
whenever that unfortunate specimen of rags 
and tatters came within range of his vision. He 
would see him, but mentally would resolve not to 
recognize him, unless compelled to do so. 

14 



KODAKS. 

Not so with Slim Jim. He never failed to 
grasp the opportunity to make himself known to 
his old chum, and would elbow his way through 
a crowd of fashionables, slap him on the shoul- 
der with a hearty, "God bless you, old fellow; 
how are you?" 

"I guess you are mistaken, sir; I don't know 
you," 

"What! Don't know me? Why, I'm Slim 
Jim. We used to play hookey together and 
howled in unison when punished. Don't you 
recollect now?" 

"No, I don't; but here's a dollar for your re- 
markable imagination." 

"That's a poor offering, but I'll see you again, 
Fat Jack." 

If you are observing and should follow Fat 
Jack as he meanders down the street you will 
surely see his Slim Jim. 



WARRANTED TO SOOTHE A DISCIPLE OF 
BLACKSTONE. 



He's gone the way of all the flesh 
That's heir to earthly ills, 

But ere he left this vale of tears 
He penned a few last wills — 

Telling to whom he'd leave his cash- 
How large or small the share — 

To be enjoyed by those he loved — 
The wills were signed James Fair. 

Some folks conversant with his past 
Have raised a wish on high 

That Jim is perched upon a cloud 
Where he can see and sigh — 

Sigh for the time when in his prime, 
Midst mines and silver mill, 



KODAKS. 

He squelched the hopes of any man 
Who dared oppose his will. 

See, with an eye undimmed by tears, 

What he feared when ending life's journey — 

A bustle and tussle of jaw-bone muscle 
By many a well-bred attorney. 

But their wishes are said to be in vain, 

As he neither sees nor sighs, 
And none of his treasure ever went 

For a mansion in the skies. 

Yet down below where Satan stores 

His imps and keeps the cases, 
Old Jim is getting a corner on fire, 

And reckons he holds four aces. 

He knows the time will surely come 

For the so-called souls to sever, 
From the bodies of those who broke his will — 

To be doomed to hell forever. 

And when they reach the bottomless pit, 
Their fate will be worse than a sawyer's, 

For the devil has promised to let him grill 

Every one of those will-breaking lawyers. 

17 



HEREDITARY TASTE. 



The average individual has about as much 
conception of the length, breadth, possibilities, 
impossibilities and habits of the United States 
as a nation as a South Sea cannibal has of ,a 
pink tea. Desiring, like all who possess the 
freedom of speech, the pleasure of using it, they 
do so sometimes — to the same ilk and again to 
the emptiness of self. It has the effect of spoil- 
ing the taste of their bread and butter, hardening 
the couch on which they seek repose, of poison- 
ing the minds of their offspring, who, having the 
hereditary taint of taste, follow the paternal 
footsteps to the carrion, where, buried to their 
€yes, their nose fails to scent the breeze of 
knowledge and comfort blown from the field of 
■cheerfulness that makes life worth living, for the 
sake of others as well as self. 



18 



RECRIMINATION. 



The facility with which some ministers con- 
demn believers in other creeds to the shades of 
everlasting darkness can only be equalled by the 
condemned retaliating in like manner. They're 
a good deal like two boys walking toward each 
other on the top of a picket fence — neither one 
will get off. and as a consequence in the scrim- 
mage that ensues, they fall to terra firma and 
both escape without accident. The difference 
between the minister and the boys is that the 
boys stay on the broad foundation while the 
divines climb back on the fence and keep up an 
argument about the loophole of Heaven in- 
scribed with their creed, hinged with their 
faith and unlocked only when the applicant for a 
harp and crown has been bapsoused in the man- 
ner prescribed by the framers of their constitu- 
tion and by-laws. 

19 



THE TREND OF WEALTH. 



I dreamed I had ten million dollars — 
Great Caesar's ghost! What fun I had, 

When with that boodle in a sack, 

I joined the rich and grew quite bad. 

"Ten million dollars; now be careful," 
Was thought forever in my head, 

'Or soon you'll be a lonely pauper, 
And lying with the potter's dead." 

How quick I caught the canting words 
That emanate from tongues of rich. 

Who take a road and both its sides, 
And shove the workman in a ditch. 

'Ten million dollars! There's a man 

Who's going to strike me for four bits; 
I wonder if he'll take a dime, 

Or else a nickel, and call it quits?" 

so 



KODAKS. 

Thus was I fretted — day in, day out — 
For fear I'd lose that precious wealth; 

To keep it hid was constant care, 

And called for many tricks of stealth. 

One day a caller came and said : 
"Here, Millions; I have use for you." 
I went, and with him passed the gate 
To where the devil claims his due. 

Then Satan reached a skinny hand, 
And said : "Old boy, I'll take a check 

For every cent of wealth you have. 
And then I'll wring your stingy neck." 

I called to God to save my wealth. 
And keep me from the devil's yoke ; 

But Satan kicked me in the pit 
And shocked me so, that I awoke 

To find myself the same as ever. 

But full of strong and fierce resolve 

To never hanker to be rich, 

Or problem of the wealthy solve. 



CALIFORNIA DIALECT. 



Californians are very fond of expatiating on 
the dialects of New Englanders and Southern- 
ers, and derive considerable amusement from 
imitating the usual twang of one and the lisp and 
roll of the other. Of course, it has never oc- 
curred to them that the inhabitants of this gilded 
dome of the United States are unconsciously 
forming a dialect that promises to be as lasting 
as that of their Eastern and Southern brethern. 
Listen to any group of people conversing, 
whether they be educated or otherwise, and no- 
tice the frequency of that abomination, "ain't." 
Also observe the number of words ending with 
"ing" in which the "g" is not sounded at all. 
Take note of the word "them" and see if in the 
majority of cases it is not pronounced " 'em." 
There are others, but these are the most flagrant 
offenses and are absurd and entirely uncalled 

22 ' 



KODAKS, 

for. The habit is very likely caused by the 
average Californian's lack of time, or rather 
supposed lack of time, as the expenditure of the 
required amount of breath, the exertion of the 
tongue and the fraction of a second consumed 
are the same in either case, so there is no excuse 
whatever for the vulgarities of speech men- 
tioned. 



23 



AN ABUSED PROFESSIONAL. 



The banker, when counting his bright shekels 
o'er, 

And figuring out whom he will pay, 
Thinks the doctor who cured his cold last fall 

Doesn't need any money to-day. 

The merchant, when taking account of his stock, 

And asking extensions of time. 
Counts the doctor as one who will willinglyi 
wait — 

His asking for money's a crime. 

The mechanic, who's working just half of the 
time, 

Pays the butcher, the baker and rent; 
The doctor, of course, has no use for coin; 

So he doesn't pay him a cent. 



KODAiCS. 



The farmer, who's holding his last year's crop 
In vain hope that the price will raise, 

Borrows money to pay various mercantile dues, 
While his doctor gets nothing but praise. 



This concert of action in dodging M. D.'s, 
When settling the old and new bills, 

Is claimed by the doctors to be bad taste — 
Even worse than a dose of their pills. 

Still they dose and slash and cheerfully heed 
Every sickly and maimed mortal's cry ; 

For, as one of them said, "I might as well live- 
It is much too expensive to die." 



» 



HANKERING. 



I have just been engaged in the very dry work 
of compiling statistics, and have almost come to 
believe as the man did who said there were three 
kinds of lies — "lies, d — lies and statistics," Not 
willing to fully accept the statement until I had 
the present task completed, I laid it aside and 
meditated on the humorist's remark that "a 
young man starts out to carve a herculean statue 
of marble that will endure forever as a monu- 
ment to his genius, and when he reaches the age 
of 35 concludes to put a tail on it and call it a 
dog," or, as another one puts it, "the boy gathers 
materials for a temple and when he is 30 con- 
cludes to build a woodshed." 

Verily, I fear there is much of truth in the 
sayings, but what becomes of all the dreams and 
hopes and efforts that are put forth by those 
who, in the vigor of young sturdy manhood, 

26 



KODAKS. 

with intellect to match their brawn, start out 
with the firm determination of capturing a zone 
and come home with a woodchuck? Are they 
really and truly satisfied with the woodchuck? 
They are. Why? Why, because a zone is a 
wary bird and must be followed from early morn 
till dewy eve. Through the stilly hours of night, 
while nature sleeps and man carouses, the zone 
must be watched. From month to month and 
from year to year the elusive creature must be 
followed with the determination of a bloodhound. 
No switching ofif the pathway to chat with 
maiden fair ; no resting at the wayside inn to 
partake of the cup that cheers ; no listening to the 
idle prattle of your kind, for if you do, your zone 
is a gone gosling as far as you are concerned, 
and you will probably drop the chase when the 
zone is just about tired out, and a fresh hunter 
will capture the prize and leave you forever wish- 
ing you had kept on a little longer. 

Supposing you had kept on, been in at the 
death and secured the brush, you would be like 
Jemima, who cooks a dinner that any mortal 
sinner would walk ten miles barefooted to par- 
take of, and she, poor Jemima, can't bear the 
sight of it. She had "more as plenty" while do- 
ing the cooking. 



KODAKS. 

With all this prologue I haven't got an inch 
nearer the actual why of the case, but it must be 
that when the young man starts out in the world 
on his self-appointed task of anchoring a zone in 
some Eden-like vale and there sipping the 
honey of life for an indefinite period, that his 
hankerings and passions and fancies are strung 
out from him like the tendrils of a fragile vine. 
Each and every hankering has a tendril, and as 
he goes tearing along through the rugged un- 
derbrush of experience, they are, one by one, 
torn away until but one remains. Sometimes 
this is the zone hankering, sometimes it is the 
gold hankering, sometimes it is the fame hanker- 
ing, but oftener than all it is the woodchuck 
hankering, and, as the other tendrils have been 
torn away, this one has reached such abnormal 
development that he thinks a woodchuck was 
what he started after ; finds one, bags it and re- 
turns to the land of his fathers, supremely con- 
tent that he has accomplished his mission. 



28 



HE WAS NEVER SATISFIED. 



From four to eight, like other boys, 
He hankered only after toys ; 

From eight to twelve he longed for gore, 
And read dime novels by the score ; 
From twelve to sixteen he disliked home — 
O'er the wide world he longed to roam ; 
From sixteen to twenty he was blind, 
For girls alone were on his mind ; 
When time took him to twenty-five 
He found he'd have to work to thrive; 
At thirty he began to think 
The world was full clear to the brink 
Of men like he, who sought careers. 
And earned their share of slights and jeers ; 
At thirty-five he thought he knew 
Of politics a thing or two, 
But when his party was empowered, 
They skipped him, and on that he sovired ; 



KODAlKS. 

Wlien forty rolled around his way 
He found his hair was turning gray, 
And of desire he had one aim — 
To leave a pure, unsullied name; 
As half a century crossed his way, 
His honor seemed to go astray; 
He sought the thing he didn't need — 
More gold to satisfy his greed; 

When three-score greeted him one day 
It found him half inclined to pray 
For youth and comfort of the time 
When he was poor and health was prime; 
At seventy he grew sick and died. 
But just befofe his death he cried: 
"Oh, Lord, take all my earthly wealth, 
And give me one more year of health." 



THE CIPHERS. 



"Pa, what is a man?" 

"My son, man is called the noblest work of 
God." 

"Yes; but is he?" 

"I don't know, my son. Why?" 

"Well, I just thought if he was that God must 
have done some mighty ornery jobs in his time. 
But pa, what is a woman?" 

"A woman, my son, is the fairest creature in 
the universe." 

"What's a universe?" 

"Oh, an immense space." 

"Is there any one else besides women in the 
universe, pa?" 

"Yes, my son; but they don't count." 



31 



FIN DE SIECLE MATRIMONY. 



Young man with a guileless fancy, 
Takes a notion to Miss Nancy; 
Escorts her on all occasions, 
Though it shortens up his rations. 

Oft he smiles on the fair creature — 
This of courting is a feature- — 
And for her he'll bundles carry — 
Previous to the time they marry. 

He experiences many a spasm ; 

Joking friends tell him he has 'em; 
While he thinks a dismal failure 
Are the efforts of his tailor. 

Time jogs on, Nancy — now Mrs. — 
Oft at eve her hubby misses ; 

He goes one way, she another ; 

Least of all they like each other. 



THE SILURIAN'S LAMENT. 



Am I dying, Stockton, dying? 

Wipe the green scum from my brow. 
Tell me, will I rest with Moses 

On a ledge of his cloud mow? 

I was born with heart too clammy ; 

Raised too selfish to discern ; 
Lived too long with pauper virtues — 

I refuse to die and burn. 

I shall last till wild blasts sounding 
From the mouth of Gabriel's horn, 

Call to life the dead of ages 
On the resurrection morn. 

Then I'll join the mouldy spirits, 
Hurrj'ing on with bones uncurried. 

For I've earned the right and title 
To be numbered^ with the buried. " 

as 



BEHIND THE MASK. 



No amount of education or polish can eradi- 
cate naturally bad qualities. They may be 
cleverly disguised, but nevertheless show when 
opportunity is offered, and the contrast is all the 
more striking on account of the gloss that has 
seen liberally rubbed on in the hope of making 
good the vile nature that lies underneath. 



34 



SELFISHNESS. 



How prone mortals are to complain. It is 
difficult to be philosophical at all times, for in 
the majority of cases, when a mistake is made, 
some one else is blamed when in reality self is at 
fault. A trinket is lost and the loser tries to rea- 
son out why his luck is so bad. A person be- 
comes ill and curses fate for the misfortune. A 
friend or relative dies and loses the power to feel 
fleeting joys and lasting sorrows ; they are 
mourned by the selfish ones left, who think the 
Death Angel might have sought elsewhere for 
his victim. 



35 



POLITENESS. 



Politeness is a trait that is primarily inherited 
and secondarily improved by cultivation. It is 
the quality that compels a man to listen and' 
smile approval to the remarks of some would- 
be director of the universe, for the simple reason 
of having him go away .with a proud feeling in 
his heart and a pleasant taste in his mouth, for 
these mouth organs take as much pleasure and 
satisfaction in chewing over words as a cow 
does in chewing her cud and with the same re- 
sults, as the benefit can be of no use to anyone 
but the actual participants. 



ONE THING DONE WELL 



In youth he went to college, 

And tried to take his part 
By pouring- o'er the text books, 

'Til he knew them all by heart. 

'Twas then a friend, malicious, 
Said the knowledge was no use, 
And in the start discouraged him — 
He believed it, like a goose. 

Then he turned his hand to labor 
And almost learned a trade, 

But forsook the honest calling 

For remarks that had been made— 

To the efifect that he could never — 
If he tried for fifty years — 



KODAKS. 

Learn to be a star mechanic ; 
He couldn't stand such jeers. 

He tackled sundry other things 
He hoped would give renown, 

But seemed to have a penchant 
To be branded as a clown. 

He could not win a word of praise, 

No matter how he tried, 
And finally, weary of the task. 

Gave up the ghost and died. 

Saint Peter met him at the gate, 
With his usual winning smile, 

And asked him what he'd done to earn 
A pass o'er heaven's stile. 

"Great keeper of the keys and seals," 

The weary pilgrim cried, 
"I never did but one good thing. 

And that was, when I died." 

The pearly gates rolled wide apart. 

And, as he passed within, 
Saint Peter murmured, sotto voce, 
"There's many more like him." 

38 



A CELESTIAL VIRTUE. 



The "heathen Chinese," who is a long way 
from being overstocked with virtues, has one 
that is worthy of emulation by any civilized race 
under the sun. When his New Year's day 
comes around he does not swear a stack of ab- 
stinence swears that he has no intention of keep- 
ing, but he does pay his debts. This he consid- 
ers a religious duty and would no more think of 
evading them than he would of stealing the roast 
pig from a funeral cortege. Failure to pay 
would ostracize him from the society and good 
will of his countrymen. They would consider 
him too common to be slaughtered in an alley 
by a highbinder, and his presence at a tan lay- 
out, opium joint or any other Celestial pastime 
would not be tolerated. So he hedges from be- 
ginning to end of the year, pays all claimants and 
anything that remains over he expends in Mon- 



KODAlKS. 

gol dissipations, such as gin festivals, domino 
wakes, cat pies at the swell restaurant of China- 
town until he feels and looks like an animated 
joss. When his fun is all over he takes up the 
grubbing hoe, washboard or stewpan, lottery 
ticket or highbinder gas pipe, according to his 
vocation in life, and plods through the year, 
dreaming of the good time coming. His Meli- 
can friend emulates his celebrating tendencies, 
but goes him one better and in place of meeting 
his obligations and feasting on the rest, feasts 
on all of it and lets his sad-hearted creditors do 
the fasting:. 



40 



LES MISER ABLES. 



Poets for ages and ages have sung 

Of grief and kindred woes, 
Until their weary, faltering tongues 

Stopped wiggling with their toes. 

They will tell how in hour of direst need 
They yearn for Heaven and home, 

But forget to mention 'tis only a greed 
To gnaw somebody else's bone. 

To lay down in comfort under a roof. 
Where no rude hand will arouse, 

Because the world now stands aloof 
And no wealth is left to carouse ; 

This is the time the song of home 
Sinks deep in the wanderer's heart, 

41 



KODAKS. 

For joy and pleasure both have flown — 
Their paths have drifted apart. 

So, weary and footsore, draggled by fate, 
And sinking in sands of time, 

He turns to the hands that lovingly wait 
To carry him over the line. 



42 



HONOR AND DISHONOR, 



There's a river of life 

And a sewer of crime. 
That flow together 

Through the sands of time 

There's danger in stemming 

The river that flows 
On a winding course 

Through the valley of woes, 

Through the meadow of pleasure 
It simmers and gleams, 

Then rages with fury 
In the rocky ravines. 

Oftimes a frail craft 

Is wrecked on some reef 

43 



KODAKS. 

Which serves as a warning 
Of the danger beneath — 

To those who by wisdom 
And hatred of strife 

Travel safely the channel 
Of the river of life. 

To those who should fall 
In the sewer of crime 

Is lost all the hope 
Of a life that's sublime. 

For the reekings of murder 
And robbery and lust 

Will cling to a mortal 

Till he crumbles to dust. 



44 



BIERCING. 



Rumor is a poor source of information, but 
oc6asionally it mixes up with a poor subject, 
so honors are equal ; but it will have to stand 
sponsor for the tale that Ambrose Bierce has 
repented and offered atonement. He is said to 
have realized that a worm-eaten spirit is a heavy 
burden and that his own has grown too heavy 
to carry. Emotion has secured such a hold on 
his imagination that he has pictured himself in 
hell, with no power of locomotion but poetic 
feet, nothing to eat except home-made words, 
nothing to breathe but his own vaporings, 
nothing to see but McEwen smoking the pipe of 
peace, and nothing to hear save the fancies of 
James Whitcomb Riley. Is it any wonder that 
he has voluntarily offered himself on the altar 
of sacrifice? Not in the least, and the Pasteur 
Institute is waiting with feverish anxiety for the 



KODAiKS. 

time to come when they will parboil and refine 
him, select the animal fat from the virus and be- 
gin a system of interesting experiments. That 
they will make a success no one can doubt, and 
in later years Biercing will be considered a 
necessity, and when a child shows symptoms 
of general cantankerousness the family physician 
will promptly vaccinate him with Bierce poison, 
force the varioloid and save the as yet unsullied 
innocent from a life-long attack of spleenmania. 



46 



THE MICROBE OF THE SOUL. 



I'd heard some stories of an oddish man — 
A recluse from the world, the flesh and all- 

Who could dissect a human being's moods 
And sfive the reason of their rise and fall. 



I sought him, and with plaint for knowledge, 
Gained an entrance to his mood-observing 
den, 
Where, ranged in vials on some shelves, 

Were what he termed the hopes and fears of 
men. 



To question of *'what seek you to attain?" 
He sighed, then oped his lips and spake : 

"If life is long enough my one desire is 

To find what elements a perfect being make. 



KOD'AKiS. 



"I've h9,d the cast-off souls of many mortals here. 
And blending them together is my art; 

One trouble is, a soul is most worn out 
When of the body it decHnes to be a part. 



"A soul develops and perforce inclines 
To grow abnormal when to passion lent; 

The proof of this is test by crucible 

Where residuum shows mainly discontent. 



"Conjured and coddled, spurred on by vain de- 
sire, 

It seeks to rise above contentment's plain. 
And wakes, when falling in the muck and mire, 

To learn what 'tis to self disdain. 



" 'Tis this that keeps me from the haunts of 
men; 

I seek a balm the microbe to cajole, 
But hope is worn to texture of the air. 

And discontent has gained another soul." 



48 



LIAR. 



"LIAR" — Quite a word, isn't it? Looking at 
it, standing solitary and alone, its barren simpli- 
city has an apparent menace and looks almost 
as if there were a clenched fist somewhere in the 
immediate vicinity, ready and willing to back up 
the assertion. 

* * * 

There is quite a diversity of opinion as to 
what constitutes a liar, and the word is often 
applied wrongfully when a little meditation 
would avert the injustice. 

For instance, we have the exaggerator, who 
is the genius Baron Munchausen or a fac simile. 
It is a rank insult to a genuine liar to be classed 
with him, for the exaggerator finds hearers and 
believers only with those people who are too 
lazy to work their own thinker; who themselves 
lack inspiration and depend for amusement en- 
tirely upon the statements of others. 

49 



KODAKS. 

Scandal mongers are included in the cate- 
gory. That is, they are of the same family, but 
of an inferior class, for instead of supplying 
harmless delusions that fortify a brain by leav- 
ing it desirous of something better and more 
satisfying, they are purveyors of delinquencies, 
or supposed delinquencies, of their fellow men 
and women that gain in strength and rottenness 
as they pass from mouth to mouth, the tale-bear- 
er, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, being 
more of a blot on the community than the one 
maligned. 



Then there is the prevaricator — a harmless 
individual, whose name is legion. Anyone who 
is the victim of a prevaricator's remarks most 
assuredly deserves to be, for his method is sim- 
ply to dodge the issue, or, in other words, not to 
give a direct reply to questions, but still leave 
the impression that he is in accord with the 
querist's wishes. A reasoner does not assume 
a matter to be settled unless a remark is made 
that means an out and out yes or no. An an- 
swer that could be construed either way would 
not satisfy him, but a moderate amount of in- 
sistence would convince, him that the questioned 

50 



KODAKS. 



■either could not or would not give the desired in- 
formation, and he would desist. 



The men who attain proficiency in the art of 
prevaricating very often accept politics as their 
chosen vocation, and in time become factors in 
moulding the destiny of the nation, and begin 
their march for the Presidential chair by carry- 
ing to a successful issue a campaign for some 
city or county office. Occasionally that is as 
far as thev sfet. 



Now we have the liar, but before we roll him 
around in the mud and mutilate him -50 his' 
mother wouldn't recognize him, let us first in- 
vestigate him from the sunny side and see if he 
has any virtues. The ancient and time-honored 
maxim of "tell the truth and shame the devil" 
is a good enough policy for a vinegar-visaged, 
praying hypocrite, who will tell you with one 
breath that the Diety loves you, and with the 
next state the different breeds of hell and dam- 
nation kept on tap for those who fail to worship 
Him properly or keep His commandments. It 
is also a good policy for a person who possesses 

51 



KODAKS. 

neither heart nor soul, no sentiment to appeal 
to, and no ideas of general consistency to upset. 
But there are times when it is policy to lie; not 
only to lie, but to stick to it, no matter what 
comes or goes, for occasionally by so doing peo- 
ple can be saved from suffering, and what they 
don't know will never hurt them. 



Why advocate lying? Beg pardon; I am not 
advocating it, but simply calling attention to a 
few points. Of course lying of any kind would 
be absolutely unnecessary if every one were a 
philosopher. But every one is not, and never 
will be. Human nature is the same old back 
number as ever, and the philosophically inclined 
flock so much by themselves that the probabili- 
ties are the qualities will never become con- 
tagious. 



You, my middle-aged friend, who have any- 
where from one to half a dozen children grow- 
ing up, how do you teach them to be truthful? 
Do you teach them to come to you with every 
kind of yarn they hear and any kind of a scrape 
they get into, and talk to them as though they 

52 



KODAKS 

were your equal ; point out to them the sinful- 
ness of the deed, separate the seed from the chafif 
for them; then pat them on the head and say;: 
"Come and talk to dad any time and don't be 
afraid?" Or do you say: "If ever I catch you 
doing such a thing I'll lambaste the liver out of 
you?" If the latter is the case you will be likely 
to raise as many liars as you have children^ for 
self-preservation, the first law of nature, is as 
instinctive to a child as breathing, and it is abso- 
lutely safe to speculate that a child who antici- 
pates a punishment for some indiscretion will lie 
if it thinks by so doing there is a possibility of 
averting the calamity. I do not blame them, 
and neither do you, if you can put yourself in 
their place, which is a very difficult matter for a 
person to do who is bent on seeing but one side 
of a case, and that one their own. 



The liar who lies with malice in such a way as 
to injure his fellow man, either financially, phy- 
sically or morally, is the scum of the earth and 
deserves to be ostracized the same as a mur- 
derer. One can guard against thieves by bolts 
and bars; by ordinary precaution can generally 

53 



KODAiK'S. 

avert physical disaster ; by flocking with the 
proper kind of birds can keep their cloak of 
morals unspotted; but there has as yet to be in- 
vented a method that is a safeguard against the 
liar. 



I mean the kind of a "LIAR" that looks as if 
there were a clenched fist back of it. 



54 



STILL AN ENIGMA. 



To those who daily study 

Human beings and their freaks, 
Note the way they blow their noses. 

And the language that they speak,. 
Who have grave hallucination' 

Of the font of mortal sin 
That they voice in predilections 

Aimed at those of nearest kin ; 
Who can tell man's daily habits 

By the contour of his ears, 
And by measuring his digits 

Prophesy his span of years — 
I would ask if they have ever 

Tried to find out from man's walk 
Something of the style and manner 

He would very likely talk? 
Simply guessing at their answer, 

We'll suppose such is the case,, 



KODAIKS. 

And their walking, like their talking, 

Slow or like a steeplechase; 
Some are heavy in their accent, 

Likewise have a heavy walk ; 
Others have a voice of velvet — 

Like a tiger soft they stalk. 
It is safe to say that every 

Son of man who treads the ground. 
In his walk has some resemblance 

To the words he mouths and sound?. 
But a woman is one creature 

That no action is a guide 
To portray her inmost nature 

Or the speed her tongue will glide. 
She may be young, with carriage graceful, 

Yet her words she's slow to voice ; 
She may be old and slow of motion — 

Talking, talking, is her choice; 
She may have many traits or features 

That her mode of life reveals. 
But she never tells by walking 
If she talks or squawks or squeals. 



RESPECT POVERTY— IT MIGHT CHANGE. 



Once on a time, as stories go, 

In a quaint old country town, 
Lived a lad known as "that boy of Nate's,'" 

Who was termed the village clown. 

Ungainly and awkward as a baby calf, 
He was always filled with woe, 
And to add to his lack of personal looks, 
Wore the worst of mismatched clothes. 

Like the mongrel with can attached to his tail, 

That from every one gets a kick. 
The lad was disheartened by curses and blows, 

And of life, with its cares, was sick. 

One night he was roused from his miserable' 
bed 
By the gleam of the bright moonlight, 

57 



KODAKS. 

And, gazing far off in that brilliant flood, 
Resolved to find safety in flight. 

He wandered afar from his childhood's home, 

To a land where all was new ; 
Where clowns were unknown, if a nature proved 

That it cared to be right and true. 

"That boy of Nate's" soon earned his friends, 

And they to the lad gave hope 
That ?omp dav a fortune he'd certainly own. 

That was dug on the Golden Slope. 

Unprophetic as guess of a miner may be. 
Still they always say what they like, 

But this time the words proved more than true, 
For "that boy of Nate's" made a strike. 

One day to a quaint old country town. 

Came a man who desired to buy 
The houses and lots of everyone there. 

And wanted to mortgage the sky. 
I 
They fell in love with his every word, 

And attempted by every stealth, 
To gain the good will of the lucky man, 

Who had such a world of wealth. 



KODAKS. 

After they all had bowed and smirked 

In a quaint old country town, 
He told them that he was "that boy of Nate's' 

Did they remember "the village clown?" 

"Well — well — yes ; but that was long ago ; 

Now, you know, you've gained renown; 
You'll surely spend your life in peace 

In this quaint old country town?" 

But he firmly declined, and went away 
From that quaint old country town. 

And ever, from that day unto this. 
They have had no village clowns. 



AN OLD STORY. 



What a glorious conception of possibilities 
the young are endowed with. This was brought 
to my notice very plainly on reading a wedding 
announcement recently, as I am acquainted with 
the contracting parties, and know the groom to 
be a nice boy who earns about seven dollars 
per week and the bride to be a daughter of the 
proverbially poor but honest parents. The boy 
has no immediate prospect of a raise of salary 
and neither one has any wealthy relatives or 
friends to help them, and if they did have, the 
chances are they wouldn't. You old boys and 
girls who are familiar with the complications 
liable to conjugal felicity can foresee a few of the 
thorns that will prod these youngsters for don- 
ning marital armor ere they possess the where- 
withal to keep it burnished. Romance is very 
nice and should be cultivated, but should never 

69 



KODAKS. 

be harvested until there is a warehouse to store 
it in, and an empty stomach craves something 
that the heart-beat of passion will not satisfy. 
Neither can a ragged back be clothed and 
warmed by words of affection and love will "fly 
out of the window," providing there is one to 
fly out of, just as quick to-day as it ever would 
if there are no creature comforts in the house 
to entice it to remain. 



TO BE A SAGE. REQUIRES OLD AGE. 



The keen observer of the past, 

Who knoweth all wise things, 
Loves to caution the unwary 

Of hidden, living stings. 
He also acts as counselor 

In guidance through the strife, 
And points his bony finger 

At the various spans of life. 



He tells with tender accent 

Of childhood's happy days, 
When the panorama shows them 

Joy in many and varied ways, 
Of the days when they were learning 

Theories stilted to the time, 
That their elders try to argue 

Lead to life, pure and sublime. 

62 



KODAKS. 

He marks as the most trying stage^ 

Or epoch of man's time, 
Is when he Hnes the orbit 

Leading to a life divine ; 
When he is groping blindly 

For the road that leads to fame, 
With a heart full of desire 

To gain himself a name. 

Then the calm of the meridian. 

When he views the after glow 
Of dreams that never were attained — 

Those hopes of long ago. 
He shows the gray haired patriarch 

In the honor of old age ^ 
He's burned out every living hope. 

And thus becomes a sage. 



THEY NEVER CHANGE. 



Professor Jordan says : "Man is prone to 
look on things as they are, and women more 
prone to look to what things may become." 

I suppose the professor is prepared to back his 
assertion up with several cords of argument, 
but I beg leave to differ with him about the 
mental vision of the male biped and will temper 
his remarks by stating that man is prone to look 
on things as he supposes they are, and his sup- 
positions are just about as correct as those of an 
intuitive female. He will jump at a conclusion 
without attempting to ascertain what it is loaded 
with, and occasionally it goes ofif before he has 
time to drop it. 

The average man listens just as attentively to 
the voice of a mischief maker as does a sewing 
circle scandal monger; drinks in the words of 
deceit poured into his ears by the wily individual 

C4 



KODAKS. 

who for the time being has undertaken the task 
of driving spikes in some one's coffin. This 
amateur coffin maker is the bane of modern 
civiHzation and is the obstacle that forever blocks 
the way to good fellowship among mankind. He 
is the individual who, for some real or fancied 
grievance, lays awake nights studying up ways 
and means to destroy his victim's credit or 
standing in society. He is the unbalanced 
scavenger who imagines himself a hero because 
he maligns an individual who neglected to word 
a prayer the way he would, or who failed to ac- 
cent an amen that chorded with his conception, 
of harmony. 

Women talk about each other in a spiteful 
manner. Man looks on, listens and says, "They 
don't mean anything; they're just talking." And 
readily forgets the vituperation. 

Men talk about each other, trade on each 
other's gullibility to a greater extent than wo- 
men ever dreamed of doing. The Honorable 
John Goldbug sits in his private office brooding 
over a fancied wrong and resolves to circulate a 
story that a certain man agreed to do a certain 
thing and failed to keep his promise. Of course 
he would have to be very circumspect in starting 
the narrative. It wouldn't do to say that he, the 



KODAKS. 

upright citizen, was the instigator of such a tale. 
He would simply say that he heard thus and so. 
He would be no worse than many another cow- 
ard and would have ample precedent for his fic- 
tion. 

Of course his friends would attach a great deal 
of importance to what so noble a man had heard 
and would lend wings to the story without at- 
tempting to ascertain or even questioning the 
whys and wherefores of the allegation. 

Therefore, I say the country needs a new man; 
needs him worse than it does a new woman, and 
never will get him any more than it will a new 
woman, for she will be a woman just the same, 
even if she wears four pair of knickerbockers; 
and a man will be a man just the same; just as 
easy to gull, just as easy to arouse malice and 
jealousy in his heart, as if he had the philosophy 
of ten centuries condensed and packed into his 
cranium. 



FANCY HELPS MANY A CAUSE. 



The frogs were croaking in the marsh, 
One spring time eve, so calm and still; 

When weaving through the shades of time, 
Came memory of an olden thrill. 

That vague and shadowy, startling shock, 
Followed so oft by shivering chill; 

A starting point for wealth or joy, 
Or milestone marking birth or ill. 

A step outside the rut of life, 

Beyond the cares which seem to shroud, 
To view a rainbow of desire, 

That melts into a sombre cloud, 

That for a time, too brief by far. 

Holds heart and brain in vise-like way. 

Till tyrant reason holds a court, 

And triumphs to resume its sway — 

67 



KODAjKS. 

A ruler that is worse by far 

Than hand of man could ever be, 

For reason holds the curtain back 
So heart and brain can plainly see — 

A face that's but a smiling mask, 

A form that's naught but earthy clay,^ 

A mind too shallow to discern 

The time to work or place to play. 

Then judgment of the self revokes 
The opening of a cancerous sore ; 

Rebuilds a soul within the form, 
And softly spreads the curtain o'er. 



WEARY RAGGLES SERMON. 



A cadaverous, knee-sprung, buckskin plug, 
who answers to the name of Nancy Hanks, and 
I concluded to go bumming in the country last 
Sunday. That is, I did the concluding and 
Nancy Hanks the going. We had a real pleasant 
time, jogging along the highways and watching 
the myriads of nimble little squirrels that assist 
the farmer in running up his expense account 
while they are running over and under his fields ; 
admiring the farm houses, with sacks and old 
comforters stufifed into broken windows ; har- 
vesters and gang plows grouped gracefully in 
the front yard ; pigs gamboling over the place 
where the lawn ought to be, and a broken- 
backed barn or two in the background. Such 
pastoral scenes thrill my heart with a kind of 
vinegar joy and I hasten away from them for 
fear that I may be overcome with swelling 
emotions and die on the premises. 

69 



KODAKS. 

There was a church at a cross roads, and from 
the large number of vehicles congregated at that 
point the house must have been well filled. A 
gay and joyous bride of some fifty summers 
sat on the church steps, giving a child in 
arms some lunch, which nature had been 
thoughtful enough to have her bring with her. 
Three little boys were playing one-old-cat in the 
shadow of the building, and out through the 
open door, into the bright, glad sunshine, floated 
the words of the pastor. They were of the old- 
fashioned, revival kind — loud enough and light 
enough to float anywhere. We were tired, but 
knew that wouldn't be a good place to rest un- 
til the minister finished unwinding his alarm 
clock, so we journeyed on for a couple of miles, 
and, turning Nancy loose to browse on the ver- 
dure, I sat down on a grassy knoll, 'neath a wide 
spreading oak, and proceeded to meditate upon 
the evils of humanity. Lost in reverie, I was un- 
conscious of the approach of a pedestrian until 
he stood beside me. He was a genuine "Weary 
Raggles," with a tin can at his belt and a roll of 
ragged blankets on his back ; his hair resembled 
a miniature haystack, and cinnamon brown toes 
peered from his rusty shoes. 

"Well?" said I. 

70 



KODAKS. 

"Well?" said he. 

"Where's your crown of thorns?" 

"Where's my what?" 

"Crown of thorns. Aren't you a follower of 
honest labor?" 

"Yes, I foller it, but I take dern good care not 
to ketch it." 

"Where's 3'our cross of gold?" 

"Along with my other valuables, I reckon. 
What d'ye think I'd be doin' with one any way?" 

"Just carrying it around to show plutocrats 
the miserable existence you are following." 

"That's yer lead, is it? Well, jest let me tell 
yer I aint miserable. Do yer imagine fur a minit 
thet I looks miserable?" 

"You certainly have license to be classed in 
that category." 

"Well, yer mistaken. I'm one of the most in- 
dependent men in the world, I am. I used ter 
be what is called respecterble, but got over it. I 
wus a business man in a big city once. Don't 
look much like it now, do I? Ha! ha! I got 
tired of gettin' up at a certain hour and goin' ter 
an office and listening ter all kinds of kicks from 
people I didn't care a dem fur, and chippin' in 
fur this thing and that thing and eatin' at jest 
sech a time, but I reckon I could have stood 



KODAiKS. 

that kind of graft all right if I hadn't discovered 
what a set of all-fired liars people are, and if they 
aint liars they've got to be lied to to make them 
think they're enjoyin' life. Why, bless yer soul,' 
when I wus a young feller I jumped inter th.Q 
swim with a heart full of good resolutions and 
a desire to tell the truth at all times. I started 
in thet way, and when a man came into my office 
I talked ter him straight from my heart and gave 
him the benefit of my experience and told him 
facts about things he wanted ter buy uv me, and 
he'd go away and buy from some smart aleck 
down the street and tell him to boot thet I wus 
the biggest liar in the city. Course, I eventually 
heard these things and it made me mad — mad- 
dern blazes, and I fell right into the trap, and( 
purty soon I had the game as well as the name. 
But they's alius sum shark layin' around and 
tryin' to get a man's business away from him. 
Everybody lies to him. Course, they go about it 
in different ways. His spiritual adviser aint jest 
like his banker and his banker aint like his poli- 
tical friends, who hold office or want office; but 
they all get there accordin' to their creed and 
callin', and the hull batch of them jest made me 
so sick that I sold out my business, took to the 
road, an' here I am. Purty, aint I? Ha! ha! 



72 



KO'DAKS. 

Wouldn't go fur in a $10,000 beauty show, but 
yer can bet yer sweet persimmons thet I aint 
got any responsibilities. I don't belong to 
nothin' nor nobody ; don't hav ter go ter bed nur 
get up unless I want ter; don't haf ter lie ter any- 
body and anybody don't haf ter lie ter me. I eat 
when I get a chance, which suits me, and I 
wouldn't trade places wid McKinlev himself. 
See?" 

I don't really know whether I saw or not. 
Nancy was rested, and, getting into the buggy, 
I returned to town, and have been wondering 
whether I dreamed the foregoing or whether 
Weary Raggles paused by the wayside that 
peaceful Sabbath morning and preached to me a 
sermon. 



73 



OUR FLAG AND COUNTRY. 



By every hearthstone in this land of freedom, 
Fond hearts are mourning for the martyred 
slain, 

Who passed beyond the pale of life and sorrow. 
While serving Uncle Sam upon the Maine. 

Hearts true as steel, they sought to serve 
Old freedom's banner, waved on high. 

On peaceful mission to a foreign nation — 
Who could foresee the way that they should 
die? 

Had gallant ship gone down in height of com- 
bat, 
Midst crashing shells and cannon's thunder- 
ing roar. 
On gilded shrine their names would be en- 
scrolled 
As heroes now, to-day and evermore. 



KODAKS. 

But mocking treachery, the birthright of a Latin- 
speaking race, 
That either is a tyrant or a cringing hound, 
Has wrested from us brave and faithful seamen. 
At thought of which our hearts with anger 
bound. 

Yes, bound and throb, with all the warlike spirit 
That can abide within the heart of youth ; 

The spirit that upholds right for right's sake, 
That fights with open face and fears no truth. 

Why should the poltroon of the land and sea. 
In rank but little better than the Turk, 

Be left to gloat o'er wreck of ruined homes. 
Or given a chance to do some other dirty 
work? 

Why should this nation, rich beyond all dreams, 
With lands of gold and peaceful, happy homes. 

Be made the victim of the wrath and hate 

Of sneaking, stealing, slave-driving Spanish 
drones? 

Why should we wait until their caviling hordes, 
Who change their minds with every breath of 
air, 



KODAKS. 

Have had the time to build more ships and plan 
A scheme of wreckage for our country fair? 

The land which they infest and call a nation — 
Not half so large as this, our Golden State — 

Holds but a potpourri of wretched vermin, 
Scum of the earth, from humans far relate. 



The cruelties they practiced on their subjects — 
A better name would be to call them slaves — 

Who had their homes upon the Queen of An- 
tilles, 
Proves them to be a nest of snarling knaves. 

Woe, woe, is war, and war is woe. 

For death must claim a tithe in time of strife; 
But better brilliant death than weak dishonor. 

Which menaces to sap the nation's life. 

Give them a chance to prove their non-con- 
nivance 
With dastard action that has wrecked the 
Maine; 
Sent gallant sailors down to Davy Jones; 
Branding a nation with the curse of Cain. 

76 



KODAKS. 

Then, if 'tis proven to the satisfaction 

Of those who have the power to call to arms. 

That treachery wrecked the noble warship, 
Ring forth the tocsin for general alarm. 

Some think that patriotism has died out — 

Love of our country and our homes an ancient 
myth; 

Love of the flag we've sworn to love and honor, 
A memory full of sentiment, but lacking pith. 

But should the trumpet sound o'er land and sea.: 
"Americans, your flag is trampled in the dust, 

And needs your help to nail it to the masthead." 
Think you the call would read, "You must?" 

No ; for brave hearts with love of country crowd- 
ing 

Their petty hopes and selfish joys aside, 
Would march to battle and lay down their lives 

For the same flag: for which their fathers died. 



A MODERN PLAGUE. 



Ever since human beings accumulated the 
habit of keeping diaries on pyramids, in tombs 
or some outlandish place where no one would 
think of looking for them, with a system of 
hieroglyphics no one could understand but 
themselves, put down in something the same 
manner as the country merchant who could not 
write, but had a crude idea of drawing, and when 
he sold anything on credit made a sketch in his 
book of the purchaser and the articles he bought 
and trusted to luck in staying alive until the man 
paid up, we have the records of various kinds of 
plagues. There have been plagues of war and 
religion, of fevers and smallpox, of famine and 
drouth, of flood and fire, of grasshoppers and 
locusts ; but the plague of the nineteenth century 
is the plague of scientists. We pick up our daily 
paper and read on the first page a scholastic de- 

78 



KODAKifl. 

lineation by the Honorable So-and-So on the 
benefits to be derived from drinking water and 
how the free and unrestrained use of the same 
prolongs Hfe. On the next page is a masterly 
article by Doctor Somebody, who explains why 
and how the human frame is turned to stone by 
drinking water, and who proves beyond a doubt 
that it is suicide, pure and simple, for a human 
being to partake of the nectar Jupiter sipped. On 
the next page is a lengthy article on bread, the 
staff of life, which goes on to explain how man 
could live and thrive on bread alone, how it 
makes brain and brawn; while on the following 
page the eminent specialist. Professor Humbug, 
tells how the use of bread undermines the sys- 
tem; how it ferments in the stomach, ruins the 
general health and finally forces those who par- 
take of same into an untimely grave. 

Astronomers destroy our equanimity and dis- 
turb our peaceful slumbers by explaining to us 
in lucid and comprehensive manner that the sun 
is about to become a planet, divided against it- 
self, and how the part that shakes the paternal 
roof and takes to the road will, if it succeeds in 
passing the temptations of the milky-way (not 
generally known as the cocktail route or tender- 
loin of the skies) likely make a bosom friend of 



79 



KODAKS. 

this little one-horse world of ours, and in the 
heat of its passion roast it to a cinder, or else by 
the force of its superior attractions, lead it off on 
a high old skylarking tour to visit other worlds, 
and, if possible, knock them off their pins. 
It makes my blood run cold to think of all 
the horrible things, that are liable to happen 
to us at any moment. The wise men's word'^ 
ring in our ears and we see poison lurking in the 
innocent-looking viands we are invited to eat, 
taste microbes in every mouthful of air we 
breathe, instinctively dodge whenever we see a 
shadow, thinking it is a vagrant world on the 
rampage ; and really there would be one good 
thing accomplished if the sun should fly off the 
handle and annihilate the earth, for at the same 
time the plague of scientists would go the way of 
the common herd, who eat when they are hun- 
gry, who drink when they are dry, who have 
some hope of heaven, and expect some day to 
die, and it would take at least twenty centuries 
to evolve another batch of them. 



STRIKE AN AVERAGE 



Speaking of scientists brings to mind various 
breeds of character delineators who try to tell a 
person's good and bad qualities, ability or lack 
of ability to accomplish certain things by the 
shape of their ears, nose, mouth, hands or feet,. 
or by the way they walk or talk, using in any 
case but a single characteristic of an individual.. 
It is rank nonsense to suppose that such a thing; 
can be done, and when they do hit it off right 
they are just as much entitled to credit as the 
man who says, "I think it will rain to-night," 
and it does, and so he gets credit for being a 
weather prophet, while if it did not rain he would! 
still be thought a nice, pleasant gentleman — 
quite an authority on weather, still, like men of 
more humble pretentions, liable to make mis- 
takes. Take handwriting, for instance. I know 
a man who is just about as hard-headed and 

81 



KODAiCg. 

practical as it is possible for a man to be; still a 
delineator of chirography would, the instant he 
^glanced at the signature, say the owner of the 
same was a brainless fop who laid awake nights 
studying how to beautify himself, and I know for 
a fact that this man lays awake nights studying 
up ways and means to force his creditors into 
the hands of the Sheriff. Instances like this go 
•to prove that it is neither safe nor reliable to 
judge an individual by a single characteristic. 
They must be taken as a whole and an average 
."Struck, and it isn't advisable to make the stand- 
ard too high, either, for if you do it is liable to 
tip over and get cracked. 



Si 



KO PING Kl Tl (Hatchet Man). 



A hatchet man lay on his cushionless couch, i 

Thinking thunks for the unredeemed, 
Till the opium fuddled his yellow pate, 

Then he closed his eyes and dreamed 
Of a fat "Yum- Yum" and a slim "Bo Peep," 

Roast pig and a juglet of gin. 
Of parboiled rice, grilled rats and mice. 

The eating of which is no sin ; 
Four aces he held in a poker game. 

And with his ill-gotten gold, 
He purchased a quartet of almond-eyed maids^. 

Just to prove he was woolly and bold ; 
Then hied he away to an alley dark, 

Where he thought for a time he'd abide. 
Until he had squandered the rest of his gold 

And made love to his quadruple bride. 

'Twas then the pipe fell from his listless hand — 

He had used up all his dope. 
So he came back to earth from the realms of 
bliss — 

A hatchet' man, stupid and broke. 



SLIM JIM'S LAMENT. 



Last evening while eating a frugal dinner in a 
Weber avenue cafe who should walk in but my 
old friend "Fat Jack." Seating himself at an ad- 
joining table he ordered a plain but substantial 
repast, which he was soon eating with evident 
relish. "Fat Jack" was looking extremely well, 
even for him. His expansive countenance was 
often illuminated by a smile and his voice sound- 
ed cheery and bracing. I was not surprised to 
see "Slim Jim" join liim, and, safely ensconced 
behind a paper, I watched them and listened to 
their conversation. 

"Slim Jim" was commenting on the quality of 
^'Fat Jack's" dinner, and in sneering tones al- 
luded to it as unfit for a gentleman and a scholar, 
-remarking that he couldn't for the life of him see 
how a man could eat beefsteak, potatoes, pie 
and such plebeian disnes. As for, himself, he 

84 



KODAKS. 

couldn't possibly think of eating anything but 
frogs' legs, squabs, terrapin, etc., and then only 
when he had plenty of champagne to wash them 
down. 

"Fat Jack" laughed long and loud, and then 
queried: " 'Slim Jim,' when did you dine?" 

"Dine! I haven't dined for a week. My 
stomach even now is sticking to my back for 
want of food. I have two dollars, and if you 
could loan me three more I could satisfy my ap- 
petite for the time being." 

"Not even on your shape, 'Slim Jim,' would I 
do so. A four-bit meal satisfies me, and I don't 
propose to humor you, especially as you have 
money. Get out of here, you scarecrow ; you 
give me the shivers." 

"That's just like you, 'Fat Jack.' Here am I, 
known as 'Slim Jim,' who cannot eat common 
food, hence I am ever hungry; I cannot wear 
common clothes, hence I am well nigh naked; 
I cannot ride in anything but a carriage, hence I 
walk. Ah, me! Fate is indeed unkind." 

"Hold on," said 'Fat Jack,' "there is one thing 
you have forgotten." 

"What is it?" 

"You have no common sense, hence you are 
a fool; and just as long as you remain the par- 



KODAKS. 

ticular brand of fool that you are you will alter- 
nately fast and feast — be in the seventh heaven 
or in the dumps — and until you can take life as 
it really is and accept conditions which exist you 
will be 'Slim Jim,' and I, who have solved the 
problem, will still be known as the serene, con- 
tented Tat Jack.' " 



Ho 



THE PENALTY OF OLD AGE. 



The shining light of day has gone, 
And, in its place, the gruesome night 

Seeks to bewilder Avith the varied scenes 
That gleam amid the many spectral lights- 



That shine from doorways, where the din 
Marks place as gilded den of sin; 

Where ribald jest and curses, long and loud,. 

Seem to amuse a motley, changing crowd. 



But, hark ! Above the babel of the throng, 
Is heard the melody of voice in song. 

And tinkling with it, trying vain to hold its;, 
own. 

An old piano, that long since lost its tone. 



KODAKS. 

Feebly the chords respond to touch of fingers 

strong; 
They seem to say: "How long, oh Lord, how 
long, 
Shall I, who've long since seen my day, 
Be thus compelled to live and play?" 



Ko answer comes to soothe the throbbing frame; 

It must clang on — the silence is too tame; 
But if you listen, mingled with the lively tone, 
You'll hear the old piano sob and moan. 



PIGEON HOLES. 

Within a desk are pigeon holes, 
Where every blessed thing is stuck, 

That seems of value at the time — 
'Tis stowed away with other truck. 

But mind will change, even in man, 
And when the stuff is sorted o'er. 

He wonders why he saved such junk, 
And litters it upon the floor. 

The letters from a faithless friend — 
Some promises to some day pay — 

Are mixed with sundry scented notes, 
And on the floor together lay. 

Those clippings from the Sunday "News," 
That at the time seemed just the thing. 

Are now a rank offense to sight — 
They seem to have a sickly ring. 



KODAiK®. 



Some relic of a friend that's gone, 
O'er and beyond the great divide. 

Is laid away — friends are too scarce 
To cast their memories aside. 



'Tis thus an idle hour is spent, 
In sifting out the treasures sweet, 

And consolation 'tis to know 

The chaff is sorted from the wheat. 



90 



NECTAR FOR KINGS. 



It was midnight; spirits were very much ift 
evidence — but no ghosts. The scene was laid, 
and will be laid again — also the tablecloth — in a 
spacious banquet hall, capable of seating forty 
people, provided most of them stood up. On 
this occasion there was rather a chow-chow as- 
semblage, including grain kings, clothing kings, 
bank cashier kings, dentist kings, life insurance 
kings, and a few king fishers, such as reporters 
and lawyers. 

The feast had appeared, also disappeared; 
the spirits, formerly controlled by corks, had 
escaped, and were making a brief pilgrimage 
through the blue blood of the assembled kings. 
Starting from a common center, they coursed to 
the feet, counter marched and reached the heads, 
some a trifle more dilatory than others, but all 
arriving in time to realize that something was 
doing. 



KODAKS. 

The fat grain king was telling how he caught 
a salmon four feet long in the Mediterranean 
Sea; the slender clothing king was giving object 
lessons of the can-can; the bald-headed bank 
cashier king was talking about missionary 
values; the Van Dyked beard dentist king was 
trying to pull a leg off the table ; the sylph-like 
insurance king was hollering ''more ginger," and 
the king-fishers were listening. 

The host, who wasn't a king of any kind, ex- 
cept among men, heard the call, "more ginger," 
silently touched a concealed button which open- 
ed a section of the wall, attached to a handle of 
which was a slender, underfed man of some 
years, with only a few whiskers on his head. 

"James!" 

The handle let go of the man and he came 
slowly forward, a questioning gleam in the depth 
of his pale blue eyes. 

"James, is the f rapped nectar ready to serve?" 

"Hit ham, sir." 

"Very well, bring it in ; also the cake." 

"Now gentlemen, or rather I should say kings, 
I crave your indulgence for a few brief, fleeting 
moments. Another day has been born; the 
whirligig of time is gigging away, being the only 
perpetual motion ever perfected. Every instant 

92 



KODAKS. 

it is placing in action matters of greater or less 
importance, and has selected this particular hour 
as the most propitious in which to bring to your 
notice a decoction, the equal of which has never 
been known on earth. It was within reach of 
Adam's hand in that glorious impossibility, the 
Garden of Eden ; Pontius Pilate knew of its exis- 
tence; Caesar sent caravans in search of it; the 
immortal Bard of Avon knew of its merits; that 
man of destiny, Napoleon, treasured it; that 
gaunt, grand martyr, Abraham Lincoln, on 
whose brow the laurel will be as green a thous- 
and years from now as it is to-day, that disciple 
of freedom, who forced the fetters of human 
slavery, knew and revered this beverage ; that 
champion of untrammeled mind, Robert Inger- 
soll, who burst the shackles of egotistical 
thought and action, and who in years to come 
will be better known as the liberator of the white 
and colored races alike, from a mental bondage 
that chained them to the rock of human suffering 
and offered them the choice of clinging to a for- 
lorn hope or leaping into a pit of fire, honored 
this drink which I am about to offer you. Yes, 
honored it, for in his happiest moments — those 
when he delighted to draw the. picture of the 
blessings that follow through the lives of those 



KOD/.KS. 

who are compatibly mated, those who earn a lit- 
tle and spend a little less — he was often heard to 
mention this liquid, which has the merit of being 
brewed by the Almighty. Kings, drink; drink 
your fill." 

The grain king drained the glass. As the 
sparkling nectar slipped down his capacious 
throat a hissing noise was heard and steam pour- 
ed from his nostrils. The bank cashier king 
tasted and tasted, finally emptied his glass and 
asked for more. The clothing king stopped 
dancing the can-can long enough to drink a 
eouple of glasses. The dentist king drank part 
of a glass, looked silly and fainted. The life in- 
surance king murmured something about being 
up against the real thing and called for more. 
The king-fishers put their heads together, looked 
wise, wagged their tongues and presently seem^ 
ed to agree on some point. The reporter broke 
the silence (individually he had been broke for 
some time): "Mine host, methinks I am aware 
of the name of this glistening fluid. With your 
permission I will hazard an opinion." 

"Granted. What is it?" 

"It is water." 

"Correct; it is water." 



94 



TIME ONLY HAS NO END. 



Time, as it wanders from limitless space, 
Laughs at the earth with its changing face. 
And wonders when dodging the milky way> 
Why man should feel sad at the close of day. 

For the earth, when robed in the garb of spring, 
Bubbles with mirth, and the glad birds sing 
Like man, who in vigor of youth says, "I, 
Who am strong and comely, shall never die." 

The summer comes, and the burning sun 
Takes from the grasses, one by one, 

The vigor that made them seem so rare, 
While man finds out that life has care. 

The fall, when the stubble field so bare. 

Tells of the harvest gathered there. 

Finds man in the sere and yellow leaf — 
Storm-tossed and cynic beyond belief. 

The winter, when driving wind and rain 

Seeks to revive the world again. 

Finds man laid away in his narrow bed, 
Oblivious to the tumult that rages o'erhead. 

95 



•BIG BUG." 



A bug is a bug, no matter what size, shape or 
color it is, and with no reference to the locality 
where it was from, for a bug can change location, 
if not at some one else's expense it can at its' 
own, for it is generally endowed with the power 
of locomotion. Bugs develop to a greater or 
less degree, according to the fruitfulness of the 
buggery in which Dame Fortune has cast their 
lot. As a general rule they are cannibalistic in 
their habits and prey upon each other with the 
usual result, the weaker going to the wall — of 
the stomach — while the victorious thrive on the 
spoils of conquest. That is, they generally spoil 
after getting it, and become abnormal in size and 
more particular about the quality of bugs they 
imbibe, and so broad of girth that they walk on 
the smaller bugs in entire unconsciousness of 
their proximity. Once in a while, when stepping 

98 



KODAKS. 

on one of the smaller of their kind, they find 
them slippery, like unto the tropical fruit peel- 
ing, and wrench their ungainly system so badly 
that ere they can recover they are boiling in the 
pot of the menial and ordinary bug. 

The prelude is simply to draw your attention to 
the term big-bug in the sense it is generally used^ 
and to explain the derivation of the term. 



97 



ROMANCE. 



The acme of ethereal romance 
Is alluring and tempting to view 

Through a vista of undefined longings, 
Faintly tinged with a roseate hue. 

Cupid's victim, seeking to transcend 
The mount of reason, by a rocky slope, 

Xaughs lightly at disheveled vesture — 
He buoyed is by omnipresent hope. 

Upon the wings of faith he's carried far 
To mate himself unto a kindred soul, 

That in the glamour of withheld defect^^ 
Is reward ample for his penance dole. 

The mist of love lifts lightly, and afar 
Is seen a vast and dusty plain. 



KODAiKS. 

With bits of verdure cropping here and there. 
Like islands peeping from the rolling main. 

The vapor settles with the double load, 

For heart is lighter, with own burdens lone, 

Gilt apex soon is lost to vision — 

Gaunt discord brings the first halftone. 

.Some fancied grievance or well-meaning truth 
Helps cover more of space than intervenes 

Between the rainbow tints of perfect love 
And plain, where sombre shades are seen. 

When all too late, a backward glance discerns 
No vestige of the fabled garden fair ; 

The idol shattered, crumbles to the dust. 

While hope dissolves and fades away in air. 



99 



A FEW DIRECTIONS. 



I was in a market the other day and heard a 
woman order a turkey. She stipulated, first, that 
it must be plump; second, that it must weigh 
seven pounds — no more, no less ; third, that it 
should be delivered at her house within half an 
hour; fourth, that it must be tender; fifth, that it 
must be of the hen variety ; sixth, that it should 
be one that has been fattened on corn ; seventh, 
that she didn't want that little Irishman to de- 
liver it; eighth, that she wanted two pounds of 
suet donated with it ; ninth, that it should be 
wrapped in white paper instead of brown ; tenth, 
that the fine feathers should be singed off; 
eleventh, that it should be killed with chloro- 
form ; twelfth, that its throat should then be cut 
with a razor ; thirteenth, that it should be hung 
up by the hind legs for two hours after having its 
throat cut; fourteenth, that the collector mustn't 
bring the bill for ninety days; and the market 
man promised to do all these things, as market 
men will. 

100 



THE SELFISH SUNS. 



Said the moon to the earth, 
When he called at night: 
*'You're not looking well ; 
Don't you feel just right?" 

"No, you know my sun, 
He's made me so dry — 
He lives beyond you. 
Up there in the sky — 

"Got up this morning. 
And was awfully hot 
About something or other — 
It doesn't matter what. 

"He took the cool water 
Fve been stowing away, 

101 

/ 



KODAKS. 

Up into the sky — 

It has turned my hair gray. 

'But it's just like the sons 

Of some mortals I know, 
Who leave the old folks 
To hoe in life's row — 

'Until nothing is left 

But a furrow of care — 
A promise of heaven, 

And the weakness of prayer/ 



102 



MATERNAL LOVE. 



One thousand dollars offered as a prize for a- 
horse race; two dollars offered as a prize for 
the handsomest baby; both prizes offered by the- 
same aggregation of intellect. 

I suppose, the great unwashed ar^ to blame for 
the wide diversity of valuation between the ani- 
mal and the human, for while a man may admire 
and covet his neighbor's horses, he doesn't covet 
his neighbor's children. Every mother thinks 
her baby is the sweetest, dearest, brightest crea- 
ture on earth. She should think so. If she 
didn't the early life of her children would be a 
pretty hard row of stumps. Being imbued with 
this idea, she enters the child for competition,, 
just the same as Farmer Jones enters his calves. 
Looking at her infant through the spectacles of 
mother love, she can see no reason why her 
prodigy shouldn't carry off the honors. If she is^ 

103 



KODAKS. 

poor she will g^o without the necessaries of life 
to buy beautiful clothes for her baby, and as she 
sits down in the crowd of "female women," each 
liolding the same opinion in her mind and her 
cherub in her lap, her bosom swells with love and 
pride and fear. Yes, fear that the judges may be 
iDiased and do her offspring an injustice. 

The contest is over, the prizes are awarded, 
and two or three have the satisfaction of know- 
ing their judgment to be correct. But what of 
the rest? Weary and sick at heart, their tired 
limbs drag them home, where they can sob out 
their misery and shame. Shame at their folly 
in subjecting their darlings to such an ordeal, 
and misery because having done so, they were 
weighed in the balance and found to be inferior 
specimens of humanity. 



101 



JEST NOBODY. 



Nobody, jest nobody, 

Hustlin' aroun' in the world; 

Aint seekin' nuthin' or lookin' — 
Everything seems so cold. 

Leastwise, jest glancin' at it, 

Whil'st trottin' along in the race; 

Can't see no sunshine in it, 

'Cepting now and then a face — 

Thet peeks out of grimy doorways, 

And, for a minit or two, 
Shines o'er the road I'm treadin', 

'Twixt lines mighty narrow and blue. 



l«i 



CUTE, BUT TROUBLESOME. 



Some dainty bits of dainty lace, 
Fringing a wee, round, dimpled face, 

Some golden curls, tossed by the breeze, 
A tiny nose that tries to sneeze. 
Two pudgy fists, two pretty eyes, 
A mouth that laughs, and also cries. 
Two little feet with cunning toes, 
Belong to a baby, as everyone knows. 



106 



THE SOUL 



A famous novelist makes a character say: 
"The soul originall}^ is a small affair, but can be 
made whatever the owner chooses by education. 
It can be raised to any height or lowered to any 
depth, as the possessor may see fit." 

What a theory to advance! A soul is as large 
in a child as it ever will be. The soul is not edu- 
cated and cannot be taught. The soul is that 
subtle feeling that permits a person to realize 
anything that is beautiful, grand or divine; also 
causes them to feel sorrow at such calamities that 
may come under their observation. Education 
does not develop the soul; it develops the brain 
and gives the tongue words to tell of the beauties 
that the soul feels and sees. You will often find 
in association with uneducated persons that they 
have ideas that are grand, but lack the power to 
express them. Again you will find persons who 

107 



KODAKS. 

liaYe every facility to familiarize themselves 
with what are considered the higher branches of 
mental attainment who never put forward any 
idea that is grand, never express a word of rap- 
ture over a work of art, never show a semblance 
of sorrow over other's woes ; and still a de- 
lineator of character in a work of fiction (verily 
it is fiction) has the audacity to assert that a 
liuman soul is originally small and is enlarged 
according to its scope of observation. 



loa 



LIFE. 



Groping for knowledge with retentive brain, 
Thirsting for pleasure with an unconse»©us 
soul; 

A child, with all of life before. 

Is not unlike a glistening lump of coal. 



The teachings first impressed upon the mind, 
That guide it from the raw, uncultured state. 

Are like the kindlings that ignite the coal 
When first 'tis placed upon the grate. 



The slender tongues of fire, lapping at its si 
Receive at last a reward for their zeal; 

Blue smoke arising from the mass. 

Seems mourning for the life 'tis made t© feeL 



109 



KODAKS. 

The gas within, that is the heart and soul, 
Sometimes from crevice glows with sapphire 
hue, 

Then fades away, like passions of a mortal. 
In fitful gleam that cannot burn anew. 

Bright and enticing, like the walks of life, 
That parch the frame and turn dark hair to 
gray, 

The fire blazes ever toward the heart. 
And slowly eats the outer wall away. 

At last the vital spot is reached — 
The zenith, all the mass a living coal, 

Knowledge has burned out every hope, 

And ashes show, to life-long toil, the goal. 



no 



d 



POET AND PHILOSOPHER. 

"Pa, what is a poet?" 

"A poet, my son, is a misguided individual 
who thinks the sun would forget to come up or 
go down if he didn't explain it." 

"Is that all he does?" 

"No, my son ; he sometimes varies the monot- 
ony by being choked to death." 

"By what?" 

"Sometimes by emotion and occasionally by 
a bone of contention." 

"That's sad, aint it; but pa, what's a philoso- 
pher?" 

"A philosopher, my son, is a person who tells 
why the poet died, and explains how he could 
have lived a long time if he had avoided skim 
milk and such rich food." 

"Does he do anything else, pa?" 

"Oh, yes ; when he gets to be an old man he 
generally takes care of the spotted calves at the 
county farm." 

Ill . 



A\ADE IN GOD'S IA\AGE. 



The earth, rocked on the bosom of limitless 
space, 

Cradled to sleep 'neath the twinkling stars. 
Crooned to and nursed by the glittering sun, 

Is being arrayed for the pageant of war. 



Mankind is pursuing the planning and building 
Of engines to kill, of schemes to decoy ; 

Each night and each day, on land and on sea, 
Brings forth some contrivance, a destroyer t® 
destroy. 

A duel of nations brings to the surface 

Men devoted to country, to honor, to home. 

Spurred on by excitement, the weak are cour- 
ageous. 
And fight to the death for a coveted bone. 

Ill 



KODAiKS. 

Each in his nest, the lap of a nation, 

Born at the hour when Babel fell. 
Is calling the muster, and donning the buckler. 

To summon the demons from deepest hell. 

Demons of darkness and pillage and carnage, 
Reeking with blood, o'erspattered with slime.> 

Creep from their hovels of pestilent silence. 
To revel in flotsam and jetsam of crime. 

Fever and famine trail in the wake. 

Left by an army to victory led; 
Some there are cheering for glories hard gained ;; 

Others are mourning for loved ones dead. 

Dead in the trenches, torn by some missile. 
Sent as a messenger screaming for peace ; 

Dead in the ocean, gone down in a warship, 
The tale of whose prowess never will cease. 

Man, with his pratings, called reason and logic^ 
Still is a savage, thirsting for gore ; 

Though cloak of civilian is drawn about him. 
Heathen he is, to his heart's core. 

List to him fan his illusions to reason ; 
Look at him writhe with impotent rage; 

m 



KODAKS. 

Hark to him rant of justice and mercy, 
Posing the while as a seer and a sage. 

Trims he the beacon of thought that inspired 
him; 
CoddHng it gently to warm it to life; 
Coaxing his anger with incense of passion; 
Unleashing his tongue in a harangue for 
strife. 

JEgotistic, despotic, selfish, how human — 
Sires and dams of the furies he woos ; 

Slaking the while through the ashes of heroes, 
A parallel theorist from them to choose. 



114 



MISGUIDED ENERGY. 



"Many men of many kinds, many men of many 
minds"" necessitates the corraling on one earth 
or in one country or on one island or in one city 
a heterogeneous assortment of men, ranging in 
abiHty from a preacher up to a lawyer, with the 
space between filled with common rogues, like- 
merchants, doctors, county and city officials, etc. 
It's a tough sandwich, for whenever anyone 
tries to bite a piece out of it they generally break 
a jaw or loosen up a few teeth in the attempt* 
and then quit. It is to be regretted that the rev- 
erend gentlemen who have got the Parkhurst 
habit and who have interested themselves in 
purifying the moral atmosphere of western cities 
have discovered that California has a national 
reputation for immorality. It is certainly news 
to the great unwashed to learn that such is the 
case, and there is just a possibility that the idea 
the reverend gentlemen mean to convey is that 

115 



KODAKe. 

a dead sheep in San Francisco smells worse than 
if it were in New York or Chicago]. It is glad- 
dening to the hearts of seekers for a public that 
is pure and unsullied to learn that in the Eastern 
States immorality has been reduced to a mini- 
mum; that all the men in those various places 
have ceased to sin, even with their eyes; that all 
the women are models of virtue ; but it is a 
source of wonder how the newspapers of those 
States discover so many cases of depravity, 
especially when it is taken into consideration 
that the average Easterner will not share any- 
thing, not even the odor of a dead sheep. It is a 
sign of progress to have the ministry take part in 
matters political, for they can assist very mater- 
ially in educating the masses to the old-fashioned 
idea of doing right for the sake of right, if they 
go about it in the correct way, but they should 
remember that this is California, the grandesl 
State of the Union; a State that is picturesque; 
and romantic in the extreme, and the bulk of the 
men and women who comprise its population are 
warm-hearted, impulsive and generous, qualifi- 
cations that can be possessed without depravity 
of mind or action, and they resent the insula to 
their good name embodied in the reverend gen- 
tlemen's conclusions and arguments. 



116 



KODAKS. 

There are poor depraved specimens of human- 
ity here as well as elsewhere; there always have 
been and always will be. Pastoral influence in 
the proper direction will materially reduce the 
percentage of evil-doers, but the proper direc- 
tion is not by barking over the heads of their' 
own kind in a hall, but in the highway and the 
byways, a word of counsel and a helping hand 
where needed. Such actions will bring lukewarm 
supporters from under cover who will join the 
procession and help the good work, but nothing 
will be gained by maligning the State as a whole 
or by stirring the dead sheep with a stick and 
then hastening away from the odor, shouting: 
"It must be stopped ; it is offensive ; let some 
brave man be appointed to bury it." 



PAST AND PRESENT. 



To those who teach the holy word, 

And love to tell of the good Lord, 

Whose life blood ebbed upon the tree 

That crowned the Mount of Calvary, 

Who died that mortals might live on, 

With hope of heaven to gird their loins ; 

And who, when spreading forth his creed. 

Gave not a thought to worldly greed, 

But lived the simple holy life 

That quells the turmoil, soothes the strife — 

Whose helpers asked but bed and board — 

No earthly dross they sought to hoard. 

The}^ told the simple homely truth ; 

They lived and proved their sterling worth. 

Turn from the picture of the past, 

To creeds and dogmas of to-day ; 

To men who figure, in cold blood, 

Will saving souls of mortals pay? 

Who think of comforts that money brings. 

Who clink it to the words of hymns, 

And name the amount that they require 

To haul a soul from out the mire. 

lis 



IVONDERFUL 



I once heard an ex-resident of sunny Mexico,, 
who was still a trifle shy of '^EngHsh as she am 
spoke," exclaim in a burst of poetic fancy, "How 
wonderful we are make." and must say that he 
diagnosed the case correctly. For instance, the 
plans and specifications for a modern upholster- 
ed female, if submitted to the architect of the 
original, Eve, would cause him to seek the seclu- 
sion of his factory and kick himself for sawing 
ofif a framework on a man and a brother that 
could be utilized in such a manner. It is also a 
question, open or liable to argument, after the 
opportunities he has had to observe the freedom 
of speech, with variations, also without varia- 
tions, used by the feminine race in daily life, as to • 
whether he would make them tongue-tied or not 
furnish any tongue at all, if he had the job to do 
over. Of course, he will have to be forgiven, for 

119 



KODAKS. 

it stands to reason "he knew not what he did," 
any more than Darius Green knew what he was 
going to do when he essayed his first trip with 
iiis flying machine, only Darius did his own ex- 
perimenting, and the mighty genius who builded 
a fair woman from a rib deputized someone else 
to take the risk of piloting the dear creature 
through this earthly paradise, and, like unfortu- 
nate Darius, striking earth occasionally with a 
resonant chug. 

Don't gather from the foregoing that I am an 
impressionist and have been pressed into the be- 
lief that woman has the right and title to all the 
peculiarities of humanity. She has neither the 
right nor the title to them. Just because she has 
taken them doesn't prove her ownership any 
more than Chairman Jones' assertion that Lo- 
quacious Bryan would be the next President of 
the United States made him so. 

Ah, but that man Jones, and Willie, Willie 
Bryan! They are made wonderful, too. Why, 
Willie can talk as much as a woman, and another 
thing in his favor, he can say as much, too ; and 
Jones, dear Jones, he can stick to his opinions, 
just like a woman, when it has been proven tCK 
him in a thousand ways and nine thousand times 
that he is wrong. 



KODAKS. 

Another wonderful thing is the PopuHst, or a 
PopuHst, as you choose. Learned men are won- 
dering where the hybrid sprung from and what 
he is good for. They differ somewhat as to the 
wherefrom part, but are unanimous in their ver- 
dict that he is good for nothing. For pecuHari- 
ties of construction I commend you to a ward 
poHtician. If the rnantle of Chief Executive 
should fall on his shoulders and he were carry- 
ing the world around on his back he couldn't ap- 
parently be endowed with graver responsibilities, 
and he is in such fear of the enemy overhearing 
his deep-laid schemes that he accumulates the 
habit, even if he meets a man in the middle of a 
ten-acre tract, with nothing in sight but a soli- 
tary cabbagehead, of hauling the man behind 
that cabbagehead to tell him that his only chance 
of a haven in the beautiful beyond is to vote for 
Busted Boodle for Supervisor. Even then he is 
afraid the cabbagehead will talk. 

And man — just plain man — is wonderful. The 
first thing he learns is to grasp. His tiny red> 
hands claw the air in a vain endeavor to grasp 
something and in the tender age of babyhood he 
lays the foundation for the saying that a man is 
never contented only when his appetite is satis- 
fied. He keeps on grasping in a graduated 



121 



KODAKS. 

course from rubber rings, marbles, tops pie, 
green apples, baseball bats, cigarettes, education, 
up to other people's money, and in the end 
makes a final grasp for breath. 

But the most wonderful of all is woman — 
dear, sweet, lovable woman. There is only one 
thing that is any more wonderful than a woman, 
and that is another woman. 



123 



A FEMININE HABIT. 



A maiden quite fair, 

And of age quite uncertain, 
Sought, by aid of a seer, 

To peer through life's curtain. 

The seer, keenly conscious 
Of the maiden's desire. 

Proved the opposite sex 
To be consummate liars. 

Then she took him to task, 
Did this seeker for truth. 

For dispelling an illusion. 
And asked for more proof. 

T see," said the seer, 
"You are like woman ever, 
You seek for advice — 

Do you take it? No, never." 



CREATION. 



There's a sort of fascination 

In hatching out a plot — 
Bringing to a point of focus 

Something that has happened not. 

Picking out some odd example, 

Met by chance upon the street, 
Clothing it with idle fancies, 
Till it seems to be complete. 

Here another, there a couple, 
Wedge in at the proper time, 

Soon appears a common novel, 
Sold at retail for a dime. 



124 



JUST LIFE; THATS' ALL. 



He had dabbled somewhat in the wonderful 
things, 
That were shown him day by day, 
And was prone to conclude, like the average 
man, 
That no one could term him a jay. 



One day, while parading a business highway. 
And thinking, the thoughts of a man, 

He chanced to observe a wonderful phiz 
Made on a new and original plan. 



At least that is what his judgment discerned, 
And, like all the rest of his race. 

He followed their course for centuries past, 
And was won by a pretty face. 

125 



KODAKS. 



The fine sunny quarters that once were his pride, 

With everything always in place, 
Took appearance like unto the cell of a monk — 

All so dull, dark and commonplace. 



How to change them? Why, yes, an excellent 
thought, 

He would ask that fair creature to share 
His ducats and all his available wealth — 

Then he'd leave that old bachelor's lair. 



So it all came to pass in due course of time; 

The wedding was a gilt-edge affair. 
And the guests who assembled to view the sad 
rites 

Pronounced them a bright, handsome pair. 



Five years have elapsed, as shown by the stars, 
And a man going home looking tired 

Has a ghost of resemblance to some one we 
know — 
Why, of course, that's the man we admired. 

126 



KODAiKS. 

The hour it is midnight; let's peep at the door. 

And see who it is lets him in; 
As I live, it's the lady he told that day 

That her happiness then would begin. 

She certainly looks, and looks are enough, 

That happiness to her was rare; 
But then that's the way of the world and the 
flesh— 

They were surely a bright, handsome pair. 



127 



FATE OF THE SOUL 



I called on my philosophical friend the other 
evening and found him in a rather peculiar 
humor. He was in a communicative mood and 
regaled me with some of his impressions. 

"Do you hear the breeze playing an aeolian 
cadence on the wires outside? It finds an echo 
in that inner self that has never been defined 
and more than likely its story will never be told 
by mortal tongue. My senses seem benumbed 
and my body seems hke a shell of tissue with 
naught but the heart for a tenant, and that 
swinging to and fro like the pendulum of a clock 
that is weary of its work, but mechanically beats 
the seconds, minutes and hours away, until the 
reaper in his gathering of the wheat and weeds 
alike stops its weary, faltering ticks and says 
that it shall find eternal sleep beneath the sod, 
that opens alike to rich and poor, to miser and 

128 



KOC'AKS. 

spendthrift, to toiler and sluggard, to philoso- 
pher and imbecile, to symbol of virtue and rake. 
of vice — all can claim a resting place in mother 
earth. And its surface, when restored to life, wilfc 
feel the breath of spring, when flowers bloom; 
and grass is green, will know the zenith of their 
glory when bright summer changes them to* 
tawny hue; can tell of autumn, when the gleaner- 
gathers the sheaves like unto the angel of deatk 
as he replenishes his domain. Then comes the 
winter, when the wild winds and beating raim 
try in vain to force through the sod, but the)r 
who sleep below are all unconscious of the pass- 
ing seasons and their placid rest is fit rewardl 
for the battles of life that in days agone have rag- 
ed around them. And the soul, that turbulent: 
spirit, what shall be its fate? Will it always. 
wander through space, a torment to self and a. 
menace to others, or will it find a home in that: 
beautiful though mythical beyond, that refuge- 
where the so-called chosen ones shall meet to- 
sing eternal songs of praise, or will it be a wan- 
dering gust of wind that o'er Ceylon's isles- 
blows soft and balmy, o'er Asia's sands burns 
with fire, o'er Artie seas freezes with the chilli 
of death, o'er America's fair land soothes withj 
the breath of life and hope, o'er isthmus carries 

129 



KODAKS. 

pestilence in its vapors? Here, there and every- 
"vvhere. At times a restorer; with the next 
Ibreath a destroyer, seeking ever for variety, and 
following it at all times without regard to wheth- 
er its wake is strewn with joy or sorrow." 



130 



HOPE. 



Hope's promise, like the breaking of the morn. 
First looks on inky blackness of the night, 

Flaked o'er the canopy with glinted diamonds, 
That promise give of future, pure and bright. 



Then grayish shadows float above the mountain 
crest, 
Driving the stars to Heaven's far-oflf land. 
While tinted halos mingle with the gray. 

And crimson gleams cause darkness to dis- 
band. 



Now glistening sun, the fire of universe, 
Creeps slowly o'er the hilltops, far away. 

Causes chilled nature to unfold her wings, 
And to the world is born another day. 

131 



KODAiKS. 

Hope, perched upon the eyre of desire, 

With fledgHng wings unfrosted by old time. 

Leaps from the pinnacle, every vein on fire, 
To win the laurels of a life sublime. 

Hope may not long for earthly wealth, 
Nor all roads lead to ancient Rome; 

There's a secret hidden in the heart and soul. 
That always sings of home, sweet home; 

Yet does seek pleasure of the fleeting joys, 
That find abode on this grim earth ; 

This wilderness of sin and flagrant jest. 

Where passions grand are fund for jocund 
mirth. 

Too soon the petals of the rose 

Are withered by the flash of Satan's fire; 

Too soon the perfume, dainty, rare and pure, 
Is faded by the breath of gaunt satire. 

Thus Hope has combat with the rugged world. 
Which, in the morn, gave promise bright and 
rare, 

But ere the mantle of the night is drawn, 

Has knowledge of the depths of pain and care. 



132 



CLEANSING FIRES. 



The science of chemistry and the many secrets 
of the crucible are ever an interesting subject. 
Man's life and efiforts could be likened to an as- 
say of quartz to determine its value. When first 
dumped into the crucible he is the raw product, 
or the natural ore, and perhaps the theoretical 
education he has obtained may show a cropping 
of a precious metal. As the fires of experience 
burn faster and fiercer the baser metals or quali- 
ties fade away in smoke and gases and their 
residuum shows the gold and merit of the dross 
and worthlessness that is the result of the cleans- 
ing fires. 

The best result of a man's work comes after 
he has burned out the theories and traditions 
that were handed down to him, when he has 
found for himself that experience is the only 
teacher, when he permits his mind to analyze all 

138 



KODAiK®. 

that passes before him and to select the gems of 
thought and not burden himself with the weight 
of superstition and its dogmas; when he has 
learned to live and let live. When this is ac- 
complished the rancor of contention goes on 
around him and he is ever unfeeling of its pres- 
ence, for he has learned the lesson, that life is 
too short to be made a continual struggle against 
fate, and happiness lies only in accepting the 
beauties and in shutting the eyes to the imper- 
fection of mankind in general. 



134 



TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN. 



Some say that love, the passion that imparts 
New life into a human being's heart, 

Is something that the will can sway, 

Or force to do as it may say. 

And others, just as firm in their belief, 
To such an argument are blind and deaf ; 
They say 'tis like a fragrant fragile flower, 
And must be kept within a guarded bower. 

To save a discourse, both tiresome and long, 
Let's say that both are right and both are wrong,. 
But if you wish a love to last and be intense^ 
Use one-half love and one-half common sense.. 



196 



TWILIGHT. 



When twilight shadows gather near, 
And turmoil of the day does cease, 

The war and tumult within self 

Is calmed, and for the time finds peace. 

The glow of crimson on the sky. 

From whence the orb of light has sank. 

Turns to dull ashen, fades away. 
Like life of man, whate'er his rank. 

The silhouette of mountain range. 
Blends with the wall of azure sky, 

And star of evening twinkles o'er 

The place where day has said goodbye. 



lise 



ANTE SLUMBER SOLILOQUIES. 



Midnight. The air sweet and balmy, as air 
can be only in California ; the lights are out, save 
the glimmer of a street lamp, shining through 
the edge of a curtain. You hear the rattle of a 
coupe over the paved street. Occasionally the 
footsteps of a belated pedestrian are heard, some- 
times ringing sharp and clear. You endeavor 
to judge from the sound who the passerby is 
and what kind of a mood he is in. The sharp, 
clear footstep has youth, and a large unexplored 
future before it ; the shuffling pace is the lazy 
mortal who would let everyone alone if he were 
shown the same distinction ; the dignified tread 
is the limb of the law, as he pursues his calling; 
the dragging, listless step is one to whom am- 
bition is a dead letter, and to whom Father Time, 
with his combined harvester, would be a wel- 
come vision. All of these pass almost uncon- 
sciously through your mind. Then you forget 
them, the sounds are unnoticed, the incense- 
laden air brings to your tired brain the longed- 
for languor, and Morpheus reigns. 

1^7 



AS LIFE GOES. 



While treading down the narrow lane 
That sometimes is called life, 

You meet a motley mass of souls, 
Mixed up in din and strife. 

The man who earns his daily bread, 

By sweat of manly brow, 
Envies the man who v/orks his head. 

And wishes he knew how. 

The man who in an oflEice toils 
Throughout the livelong day, 

Thinks what a picnic it would be 
To cut and stack some hay. 

And thus they jog around the track, 
Each thinking that the other 

Has comforts in his role of life 
Without the other's bother, 

138 



A TRAMP PHILOSOPHER. 



"Why am I a tramp?" the vagabond said', 
"Well, mister, mayhap I were better dead, 
And if I should tell you the reason why 
You'd think the version were all a lie. 

"But once on a time, not so long ago, 
I lived in the life of glitter and show, 
Struggling along in the rancor and strife 
That fills up the days of a city man's life. 

"Knew the fatigue of trouble and care; 

Saw life's fondest hopes dissolve in the air; 
Found that success I could never attain, 
And contentment simply a castle in Spain- 

"I took to the road, and you see me to-day 
Dirty and ragged, but blithe and gay, 

139 



KODAKS. 

Known to the world as a rascal and scamp, 
And doomed all my days to be a tramp. 

'^Sometimes I regret the step I took, 
And backward glance, with hungering look, 
To the time when I, a man among men. 
Gave up the game I played with them. 

*^Only for a moment do I stand and gaze 
At the wa^te and wreck of bygone days; 
They had their uses — maybe some good — 
When I, now a tramp, earned a livelihood. 

"I live in the present and have not a care — 

I wander at will, no matter where ; 

Bumming my food in the light of day. 
Sleeping at night in sweet-scented hay. 

"It fits all the chinks of my scraggy frame; 

Makes me forget that I'm aged and lame; 
And to hope that whenever I pass away, 
It shall be when asleep in the new mown hay.' 



uo 



GRAND OPERA. 



My philosophical friend was raised, with 
various other things, on a farm in "York" State, 
He is a trifle secretive about the time when he 
became ripe enough to market, but has occasion- 
ally hinted that on the auspicious occasion he 
would have blended Very harmoniously with a 
background of St. Patrick's day flags. However, 
if such were the case, it is simply a page of his 
personal history, and if he should happen to 
leave a million dollars behind him when he 
boards Charon's ferry boat his biographers will 
attend to recording the details at so much a rec- 
ord. He is very fond of an opera, especially 
what is termed grand opera, and when the sea- 
son is at hand can be found in the front row 
with the rest of the baldheads. I gently intimated 
that the chorus girls were visually quite attrac- 
tive, and it was certainly pleasant to have their 

141 



KODAKS. 

I)right smiles haunt him still. He shook his head 
and said : 

"Guess again. No; come to think of it, you 
needn't either, for you couldn't guess in a week 
the whys and wherefores of my liking for opera. 
You see, it is this way : I've paddled my canoe 
on many a river and creek, have shot some 
rapids, and once or twice have been out of sight 
of land on the briny. I've observed a batch of 
things, real or otherwise, on these excursions, 
but away down deep in my heart is a memory 
of the old farm. It wasn't any different from 
the old farms most of you fellows knew in your 
youth, but it was my own particular old farm, 
and I remember it so well that I can shut my 
eyes, see the corn field, hear the wind rustling 
through the leaves, see the pumpkin vines crawl- 
ing everywhere like serpents, and what bully 
whistles you could make of the stems to the 
leaves, provided you rubbed ofif the fuzz so it 
wouldn't nettle your lips. 

"Of course, there's another side to that corn 
field story — the one when, with about six inches 
of snow on the ground, I walked behind the wa- 
gon and husked the down row, but that don't 
count in this narrative. Then there was a field 
@f wheat and one of rye, another of red-top and 

U2 



KODAKS. 

clover, and, what was best of all, the medder (as 
my respected granddad called it), where there 
was a grove and wild crabapples and grapes and 
elderberries, for popguns, and poison ivy for 
grief; tree moss, for all the world like a minia- 
ture forest; and in the spring, wild flowers, such 
as Jack-in-the-pulpit, Dutchmen's breeches and 
others with names not so striking; a brook that 
went dry in the summer and was a torrent in the 
spring; an old chain pump, which came over 
with Noah, and a water trough that seemed to 
be as large as an Erie canal boat when I had to 
pump it full of water. Every once in a while 
the handle slipped off, hitting me on the ear, just 
to remind me that I wasn't paying attention to 
business. 

"Then there were tall poplars, where it was 
my duty and pleasure to carve my name; also 
that of a spindle-shanked, freckle-faced, ging- 
ham-sunbonneted little torment who lived on 
an adjoining farm. But excuse me, I wander. 
What I intended to speak about was the chick- 
ens. At that time I didn't consider it much of 
an honor to act as head waiter for a mixed as- 
semblage of barnyard fowls, and don't know as 
I do yet, for all the time I was feeding them I'd 
be thinking of a big pickerel I saw under the 

143 



KODAIKS. 

ice breaker down at the bridge, or of a chipmunk 
I was going to drown out whenever I got a 
chance, or wondering if I could chew up more 
green gooseberries without making a face than 
a Dutch boy who Hved across the road. 

"All such things would be running in my 
head while I was watching the perform- 
ances of those chickens, and now when I go to 
the opera I just imagine that the leader, as he 
picks up his baton and gives it a preliminary 
wave in the air, is saying, 'Chick, chick, chick; 
come chick,' and the violins, the cello, the piano 
and all the other instruments are the patter, 
swish and rustle of wings, as chicks, large and 
small, chicks squatty and tall, come scurrying 
from all directions to the center of the barnyard 
or stage. A big Shanghai rooster is the central 
figure. He struts up and down, pausing before 
a grain of corn, directing the attention of a 
Dominicker hen to the kernel, evidently inviting 
her to partake, at the last moment gobbling it up 
himself. He is the basso, who thumps around 
the stage and declares himself, in tones so all 
may hear, to be lord of all creation and a few 
other countries. The Dominicker hen is the 
'female woman' he is ordering to go tell her mis- 
tress that if she don't get a move on herself— 

144 



KODAIKS. 

come at once and fall on his bosom — he'll kick: 
her bodyguard over into the next county and 
hang his rival to the first gas lamp he discovers.. 
Then a black Spanish rooster comes saunter- 
ing along, not making much noise, but gather- 
ing in any grains that lie in his pathway, until! 
he bumps up against Mr. Shanghai accidentally 
and is instantly called to account. This black: 
Spanish is a pretty bird and is the recipient of: 
many admiring glances from a bevy of Buff" 
Cochin hens. That's the tenor. He warbles so^ 
sweetly that Shanghai concludes it wouldn't do> 
to assassinate him on the spot, so he gives himi 
a show for his life, which he improves by hiding; 
behind the Buff Cochin hens, or chorus girls... 
These are brought to attention by a game roos- 
ter, who comes meandering along in a don't- 
care sort of a way, his head bobbing back and: 
forth, his spurs glistening, and an altogether de- 
liciously villainous look in his eye. He is the 
hero of the narrative, who has arrived from parts, 
unknown; who knows a Shanghai at a glance,, 
and a few other things. His rich baritone makes. 
the ceiling rattle, and the Buff Cochins, or 
rather chorus girls, catch on to the spirit of ther 
thing as he describes the splendors of a feast off 
grub worms in a tomato patch and promises t& 



KODAKS. 

-show them the way. About this thne a silver- 
spangled Hamburg comes trotting up to the 
traveler, and, with numerous clucks, signifies her 
approval, after which she marches off by the 
side of his highness, the Bufif Cochins and black 
Spanish forming a bodyguard, the Plymouth 
Rocks and Leghorns following, with Mr. Shang- 
ihai glad to follow in the rear. 

"Now, if that isn't your hero and heroine of 
opera, Avith their retinue of retainers, the honest 
villagers, glad to sit around and holler and drink 
ibeer or brown ale whenever the occasion offers, 
and the bull-dozing tyrant, who always gets it 
-in the neck, who asks for everything and takes 
anything, why, I've been doing the philosophi- 
cal act all these years in vain. But, as I was 
about to say, the reason I like grand opera is be- 
cause it reminds me of chickens in a barnyard, 
not so much because the singers look like chick- 
ens, but because they act like them; they remind 
me of my early days, when I was head waiter, 
-chef and general utility man to a flock of them. 

"And being reminded of them, reminds me of 
"the old oaken bucket, the striped chipmunks, 
^vho escaped drowning only to be clubbed into 
the beautiful beyond ; the bumble bees, that often 
.stung me as I robbed them of their honey and 

U8 



KODAKS. 

put it into cups made from acorn hulls, and many 
other things that made life on a farm 'down East' 
interesting, including the spindle-shanked, freck- 
le-faced, gingham-sunbonneted girl, whose 
name I carved at the very top of every poplar 
tree on the place." 



147 



AN EVER PRESENT SHOW. 



Did you ever watch two lovers, 

iVnd jot down the many ways 
They make vows of pure affection 

To last for countless days? 
Very much like pigs in clover, 

Are their notions vague of life. 
For they munch the fragrant blossoms 

Without thought of coming strife. 
Or of any of those failings 

That are classed as mortal ills — 
Sure to crop out in the future, 

Mixed up with a batch of bills. 
Kisses sweet as rose of Sharon, 

From each other's lips they sip. 
While they vow that life will ever 

Be a sweet sunshiny trip. 
They, of course, have heard of people. 

Who by mating made an error, 

148 



KODAKS. 

But their bland faith in each other 

Robs the future of such terror ; 
Builds a cottage on the hillside, 

Where birds sing and flowers bloom, 
Where coal grows in chilly winter 

And sweet outing gowns in June ; 
Where the grocer and the baker 

Leave their wares and never say : 
'Pay your bill, or, by the holies 

I'll not come another day." 
Where the doctor, with his pill box. 

Or a nurse of ample girth, 
Never, never'll chance to visit. 

For of sickness there'll be dearth. 
Never will the chills and fever 

Knock upon the cottage door, 
And when it comes to dimpled cherubs- 

Not to have them they have swore. 
By and by they join their fortunes. 

Then ensues a wedding trip, 
And the wealth of osculation 

Is enough to sink a ship. 
They arrive back home quite happy, 

And begin to hoe the row 
That is looked on with suspicion 

By bald-headed men I know, 
Who maintain the row grows longer, 



KODAKS. 

And the strain of life intense. 
That there's naught but close acquaintance^ 

Will reveal a lack of sense ; 
That a woman is a creature 

Far too fair to ever wed, 
And a man a soulless villain — 

Never good till he is dead. 



LIFE'S DAY. 



A day, with its changes of light arM shade, 

Is Hke the Hfe of man or maid — 

The morning so sweet and calm and pure — 
Like the little child that must live and endure. 



The midday, when nature seems to rest, 

Like the middle of life when on the crest 

Of a wave of power or mount of woe. 

The mortal gazes on valley below — 



Back on the road o'er which he came, 
That may be spread with flowers of fame, 
But oftentimes 'tis a path of thorns, 
Marking a struggle since he was born. 



Forward is the road he now must go, 
Stretching away toward the sunset glow, 

161 



KODAKS. 



And he thinks as he starts the downward 

grade 
Of a peaceful rest in the everglade. 



The evening has come and the sun has sank, 
Like man must sink, no matter what rank, 
The shadows gathering to solemn gloom. 
Wrap their sombre mantle around his tomb. 



tSi 



A LIBEL 



A San Francisco paper printed what purport- 
ed to be the latest photograph of Prince Bis- 
marck. According to the pose the artist must 
have induced him to try and look at something 
about four years back without turning around 
to do so. Imagine, if you can, the iron chancel- 
lor, whose commands have swayed the world, 
posing for a picture in a position adapted to a 
soubrette winking at gallery gods. Just think 
of that old soldier, who had more dignity than 
all the crowned heads lumped together, affect- 
ing the position of a sixteen-year-old school 
girl, who would like distant relatives to believe 
she was just as roguish and vivacious as possi- 
ble, and wore her head on one side like a meadow 
lark on a rail fence, watching a boy with a gun. 
Maybe the photo is bona fide, but I doubt it, 
and hope to never have the doubt removed, for 
Bismarck, with his fifty years of continuous serv- 

138 



KODAKS. 

ice to his country, is a man to be classed, witk 
Washington and Lincoln, and it is not likely 
that in his eightieth year he would turn giddy 
and let an artist pose him in such manner as to 
suggest a crooked-necked squash. 



lU. 



A VAGARY. 



One day a fancy, strong of limb and girth, 
Seized and 'neath a fountain plunged me — ■ 

A fountain filled with wild creations, fraught 
With menace, that to frailties would a curse 
be. 



As fantasies, so wild with angry pleadiAg, 
Foamed o'er a wraith of discontent, 

The creature held within their grasp 

Was prone to raise his voice in wild lament, 



What is the world, with all its tenantry, 
That gifts of nature have disused ; 

Who temples build in wilderness of sin 

To mock God's creatures whom they have 
abused? 



KODAKS. 

What is the sun that Hghts and warms the world, 
Yea, gilds with glorious presence all the land? 

Some think 'tis but the sire of furies, 

That seek to fetter us with endless bands. 

What are the hopes, that m a shifting brainj 

Try ever to escape their bounds, 
To leap into the spectral future far. 

Yet feel the scourge of ever-present hounds? 

What are the loves that burn within the heart, 
To sear it with an all-consuming fire? 

While ever on the merry music rings. 

Picked from the strings of weird, seductive 
lyre. 

What is the end that waits for all who come, 
Who enter in the lists of love and strife? 

Ask ye the fountain, as it bubbles on. 
To tell to you the secret of this life. 

This life, who says 'tis all we have to live? 

Is this the goal of love and hate and pride? 
Is this the end of all the joy and pain; 

No soul to triumph when the clay has died? 



156 



ORIGIN OF A MINISTER. 



The voices from the pulpit are heard far and 
near and the supposition to be drawn from some 
minister's remarks is that expounders of the 
gospel were first created and their stock in trade, 
man and his follies, were an after consideration. 
If we assume the theory of creation to be cor- 
rect it is proof positive that the minister was the 
after consideration, and while he may have been 
a piece of God's handiwork, he may also have 
been a natural result. That is, the feelings that 
permeate the mind of most men to in some way 
be a director of the balance of the universe may 
have budded in the mind of some of our ancestors 
and when the bud blossomed the result was a 
minister. This may be wrong, and without 
doubt a great many arguments could be brought 
forward to prove the statement to be incorrect. 
Still an argument, be it ever so good, is not 
necessarily a fact; it is a theory. A minister is 
a fact. You cannot make a tangible object out 
of a theory. Therefore it stands to reason that 
you cannot make a minister out of an argument 

1.57 



A BACK NUMBER DUDE. 



He has a few peculiarities 
Besides the ones I'll mention, 

But only those that show the most 
111 call to your attention. 

Sometimes he is a widower, 

With just an only child ; 
Sometimes he is an ancient duck, 
Still thinking that he's wild. 

Sometimes he is a minister. 

Who likes a little fun; 
Sometimes he is a worthless cuss, 

And nothing but a bum. 

Ill one way they are all alike, 
In others they may vary; 

Each thinks himself a special prize 
For some sweet damsel wary. 

158 



KODAKS. 

No matter if his face is red, 

And features that's termed homely, 
With bandy legs, plus pigeon toes, 

And form that's far from comely — 

He'll dance attendance on the girls 

At any day or hour ; 
Blow in his cash in manner rash, 

Until the sweet things sour — 

Or shake him for a younger chap — 

A man about the town — 
Whose whiskers do not gently shade 

From black to dirty brown. 

If you should meet one of that kind. 

In sunshine or in rain, 
You'll find he's wearing a disguise, 

Or else girl on the brain. 

For no one but an ancient rake — 
One of those would-be friskers— 

Was ever known to think it helped 
His looks to dye his whiskers. 



m 



ENVIRONMENT. 



Tolstoi comments on the lack of happiness a 
banker finds shaving notes and claims a janitor's 
comfort to be far in excess of the banker's. He 
should have continued and said that a man is 
happy according to his own idea of himself. The 
man who by force of circumstances is a banker 
will be wonderfully happy unless he labors un- 
der the delusion that he would prefer being a 
railroad magnate and happen to be short some of 
the capital. A janitor will be a trifle happier than 
a banker unless he thinks he would prefer being 
a policeman and lacks the pull. 

The question of a man's happiness depends 
entirely on self knowledge that he is filling the 
niche he should fill, with determination and 
enough self respect to prevent retrograding and 
desire, not a betterment of the existing order of 
things, but rather a continuance of present bless- 

160 • 



KODAKS. 

ings. Whenever a man accumulates a hankering; 
to be that which he is not his troubles begin and 
magnify in intensity as long as the privilege of 
breath is granted him. Lengthening his span of 
years and granting him a fulfillment of his de- 
sire would not soothe him, for the habit once ac- 
quired is as difficult to shake as it is for a minis- 
ter to mix politics with religion and not make sa. 
mess of both. 



INDEPENDENCE DAY. 



*Over the sun-kissed Occident 

Flashes a paean of joy and praise, 
Tribute to those who in the past, 

Shattered the fetters that made them slaves. 

Cast off the yoke that bowed them down 
To whim and fancy of a royal crown; 

-Made all men equal and free to pursue 
A search for happiness, pure and true. 

I 

Proclaimed themselves and their country dear. 
In a way so all the world should hear, 

-As a home for those by monarchs oppressed. 
Who longed for a haven of refuge and rest. 

ItVise in the council that prompted the move, 
Brave in their deeds of daring and love, 

162 



KODAKS. 

Steadfast in forcing the cause to an end — 
They gave their heart's blood to protect and 
defend. 

When in the end they grand freedom attained, 
They wasted no time o'er the victory gained, 

But turned from the sword to the ploughshare 
and pen, 
To develop the resources God granted them — 

Resource of continent, bounded by ocean, 
Swept by the breath of life-giving breeze; 

Saved from the world, apart from all nations, 
For people to live and do as they please. 

Destiny marked the path o'er the ocean 

That led to this mecca of unbounded wealth; 

Watched o'er the Pilgrims in pious devotion, 
And sheltered them from the wild savages' 
stealth. 

Gave to their frames the strength of endurance,^ 
Gave to their minds the courage to brave 

The terrors of war, its ills and hardships, 
To cast from their ankles the shackles of 
slaves. 

163 



KODAKS. 

Look ye the length and breadth of the nation, 
Over the boundless valley and plain, 

Carpeted with grasses, silvered by rivers 
Flowing from font in the mountain ravine. 

Mountains that seem like sentinels, guarding 
The wealth that is spread over vista between, 

Crowned as they are by that symbol of virtue. 
Snow of the heavens, pure and serene ; 

Mountain slopes covered with expanse of forest. 
Ribbed by canyons where cooling springs 
gleam, 

Veined with white quartz, in minerals abounding. 
Waiting for hand of mortal to glean. 

Harbors that naught in the world can compare 
with, 

Sheltered by cliffs from the wide main. 
Easy of access by broad and deep channels. 

Egress of rivers that traverse the plain. 

Great inland lakes, as large as the monarchy 
That sought in the past to rule our domain. 

Are simply a dot on the face of this country, 
That's ringing with praise for freedom at- 
tained. 

164 



KODAKS. 

Picturesque canyons, torn in the mountains, 
Tell of the struggle when volcanoes stormed 

Ages ago, when they reared the structures 
That now, clothed with life, show beauteous 
form. 

Bright plumaged songsters ring their glad 
carols, 
In the green glades, where the sweet flowers 
bloom, 
Bringing to mortals a gleam of contentment — 
Scenting the air with dainty perfume. 

Men of all nations are gathered around us, 
Sharing the fruits of the land and the sea, 

Inhaling the breath of personal freedom — 
Thinking and acting their own decree ; 

Worshipping God as their fathers before them 
Thought was the way to heavenly joy; 

Poinding the motto of nil desperandum, 
In a fulfillment without alloy. 

Ever shall this nation stand out in relief, 
As taking firm stand in freedom's belief; 

Knowing no master, having no slave. 

Land of the free and home of the brave. 

165 



KODAKS. 



Ever shall our emblem, the star-spangled banner,. 

Wave to the breeze, commanding respect; 
Ever shall we, in memory and manner, 

Give honor to those who gave life to protect. 



166 



IF THE SHOE FITS. WEAR ST. 



It was a cosy sitting room, that ordinarily 
would cheer the eye and bring a feeHng of peace 
and contentment, but on this occasion large 
chunks of gloom were visible to the naked eye. 
The lady of the house was the masterpiece of 
despair, while her devoted husband and a few 
sympathetic friends were lesser lights of calam- 
ity, who endeavored with kindly words of hope 
and a handkerchief to check the tears that welled 
from her large red eyes. But their labor was all 
in vain. She moaned, groaned, wept, shrieked 
and called for Johnnie. "Johnnie, oh, Johnnie, 
my darling! I know that you are dead. Why, 
oh why, did I talk cross to you this morning? 
Let me go, I say; I'm going to find him. 
Mamma's darling baby ; he's at the bottom of the 
river; I know he is. Dear little fellow; always 
so kind. Oh God, whv have you taken my 
boy?" 

"Cheer up, madam; your son may show up 
soon. There is no need of your worrying until 



KODAKS. 

you have reason to believe that misfortune has 
overtaken him." 

"Don't raise a false hope in my bosom. I 
"will never again see his ruddy face, his bright 
«yes, his mischievous smile ; and I misjudged 
my darling so often. If he only had his little, 
life to live over again what would I not do for 
liim? They'll be bringing my treasure home all 
wet and cold ; cold in the chill of death." 

The unhappy, sorrowing woman buried her 
liead on the sofa cushions in a wild paroxysm of 
.grief. There was not a dry eye in the room. 
Every heart ached with sorrow for the poor 
mother, as they tried in vain to comfort her. 

Bang went the front door. Clump, clump, 
came a pair of sturdy feet through the hall, and 
above it all sounded a shrill whistle, wrestling 
with the intricacies of "Ma Angeline." A ten- 
year-old boy, carrying a puppy by the scruff of 
the neck v/ith one hand and a baseball bat in the 
other, entered the room. 

"Hello! What's the row? Say, ma, see my 
dawg; what d'yer think of him? Aint he a bird? 
Dog catcher gave 'im to me; said I could keep 
him if I wanted ter, and I guess yes, I want." 

The sorrowing mother had arisen from the 
sofa. She stared at her offspring for a few sec- 
ies 



KODAKS. 

onds until the floodgates of her word mill could. 
be turned loose, and then she swooped down oa 
him. 

"Johnnie Jones, where have you been?'' 

"Nowheres much." 

"Don't you dare to say nowheres to me. I've 
worried my life out about you, thinking you 
were drowned or lost or something awful. Come 
here this instant. Take that (cufif) and that 
(cufif and more cufifs in rapid succession until the 
hopeful had a genuine case of grief). You 
scare me again, will you? You little scamp, I've 
a good mind to thrash you within an inch of your 
life. You go to bed now without your supper. 
I'll teach you ! You ungrateful little wretch." 

The friends took their departure and all ex- 
pressed their delight that Johnnie was alive and 
well; and Mrs. Jones, she was glad, too, and 
said so, and thanked them over and over again 
for their aid and sympathy. Then she returned 
to her novel and her husband and thanked God 
and herself that her darling was safe, while up- 
stairs in his little bed the boy was sobbing with 
grief and pain, and thinking over and over again: 
"The man gave me the nice puppy and I played 
with him and just forgot that I ought to go 
home." 

169 



DADDY'S HOME. 



When the sun at eve is setting, 

And the bees have ceased their drone. 
Babies gather at the gateway 

To greet daddy, coming home ; 
Joyous, merry little faces. 

Close against the pickets pressed — 
They are longing for the footsteps 

Of the man that they love best. 



All day long he has been toiling, 

And he's weary, every bone, 
But his task seems light and easy 

At the thought of going home ; 
Going home to wife and babies — 

Who wouldn't toil, such bliss to own? 
And there's naught but peace and comfort 

In the thought of going home. 

170 



KODAKS. 

There he comes. Out on the sidewalk 

Dash the babes, with laugh and shout 
All of them want to be carried — 

Daddy is so big and stout. 
So he folds his arms around them, 

Carries them up into the home, 
And the wife's sweet face beside thena 

Fills the picture — Daddy's home. 



171 



EGOTISM. 



About the most amusing thing on earth is the 
effect of the sectarian paper or the poHtical pa- 
per in a household that champions the cause 
espoused in the journal and would not have the 
corrupting organ of the opposition on the prem- 
ises, let alone peruse it. Supreme with the ad- 
vocate of the idol of their dogmas that waves in- 
cense toward an uncrowned king, their imagina- 
tion dances vividly to the tune of the offerings 
in print and their memory retains the telling 
points founded upon the theoretical creations of 
a theorist, which they propound in a most sol- 
emn manner as the ultimate result of what to 
than is the reasoning of a superior intellect that 
can and will accomplish wonderful and pre- 
sumptuous phenomenon. Life is all too brief to 
correct these individuals of their too compact- 
ness of idea, and the suggestion of a wedge of 

172 



KODAKS. 

knowledge in the shape of the literature of their 
supposed enemy, that is in reality the guardiaa 
that enables them to retain their tenure on the 
fruits of existence, would be treated with scorn 
as an emanation of ignorance from the brain ©f 
a scoffer, and the suggestor would be warned ol 
the pitfalls in his spiritual or political path as 
outlined by he of the one principle, one road, 
one gate, controlled and operated by the iroa 
hand of fate. 



178 



WHILE IT RAINS. 



The goose comes in on the northwest gale. 

While it rains, it rains, it rains; 
The nimrod now tells remarkable tales, 

While it rains, it rains, it rains. 

The tramp now is mourning and oftimes repents, 

While it rains, it rains, it rains — 
Of hard-earned dollars he cheerfully spent — 

While it rains, it rains, it rains. 

The hayseed is gearing his old gang plow, 

While it rains, it rains, it rains ; 
And thinking that work now begins "by swow," 
. While it rains, it rains, it rains. 

The predictor of weather is happy, I know, 

While it rains, it rains, it rains — 
To think that this time his word was a go, 

For it rains, it rains, it rains. 

17 



EVOLUTION. 



March seventeenth is the day set apart by 
those who were fortunate enough to get away 
from Ireland to celebrate the event. This is not 
quite as important a day as the anniversary of the 
Declaration of Independence, but ranks close 
enough to inspire young America with the idea 
that Ireland is a country filled with good cheer, 
harps and sentiment — principally sentiment. An 
Irishman has more sentiment to the square inch 
than any other known being. It is of the 
variegated breed and always adapts itself to 
climatic conditions, being able to blow cold or 
hot, as the occasion requires. It is this peculiar 
adaptability that has done so much to shatter 
faith in the genuineness of the tears that are said 
to never dry up in an Irishman, for investigation 
has proven quite often that his old Irish home 
was a place of misery and hardship, and he bears 

175 



KODAKS. 

the separation from it with wonderful fortitude 
when it is taken into consideration the small 
amount of money it would require to carry him 
back there. The truth of the matter is that it 
will take about a thousand years of American 
freedom to teach him the proper way to appre- 
ciate the benefits accruing from a Republican 
form of government, but there is a lurking fear 
that long before the thousand years are up the 
government of this Republic will be entirely 
Irish and a lovely chance to watch the intricate 
process of evolution will be lost. 



176 



HIS HONOR. 



(With apologies to Longfellow.) 

Beside a country turnpike, 

The Fair Oaks' Courthouse stands; 
The judge, a mighty man is he. 

His height is fifteen hands. 
And the muscles of his honor's jaw 

Are strong as iron bands. 

His hair is crisp and black and short. 
His face sometimes is tanned ; 

His brow with sweat is often wet. 
He earns just all he can, 

As he looks a culprit in the face 
To see how much he'll pan. 

Week in, week out, when duty calls. 

You can hear his bellows blow; 
You can hear him swing his heavy tread, 

177 



KODA/KS. 

With measured tread and slow, 
As he drifts out to his grist mill 
To start his morning show. 



-And children, going down town to school, 

Look in at the open door; 
They love to see the massive judge 

And hear his honor roar. 
And catch the melody of his voice 

That leaks out through the door. 



He goes on Sunday for a stroll, 
And meets some of the boys ; 

He hears them spin the latest yarns. 
They hear his mellow voice 

O'er-topping their stories just one notch, 
And it makes their hearts rejoice. 



Listening, meditating, sentencing — 

Onward through life he goes; 
!Each morning sees some case begun. 

Each evening sees it close; 
3^or the judge must keep his docket clean. 

Though he thrives by others' woes. 

178 



KODAKS. 

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worth}' friend. 
For the lessons thou hast taught. 

To those who in your justice shop 
Against their will were brought. 

To explain unto your honor, 

Why mischief they had wrought. 



179 



HONESTY. 



"Pa, what is honesty?" 

"Honesty, my son, is a noble qualification 
that prevents a man from defrauding or in any 
way injuring his fellow men." 

"Is it used much, pa?" 

"Yes, my son; it is almost used up." 

"Where do you think I could find some, pa?'* 

"About as good a place as I know of is a ceme- 
tery." 

"But aren't people gone forever that are in a 
cemetery?" 

"Yes, my son; but the virtues and honesty 
still remain — on their tombstones. When you 
get a little older you can take a market basket 
and go out and pick some." 



ONE OF MANY. 



Did you ever meet the man who has peculiari- 
ties and is aware of the fact? He will tell you 
with a kind of aren't-you-surprised-sort-of-look 
on his face, "I only eat three meals a day. Just 
think of it ! And really I go to bed every night 
and actually breathe right along all the time, too ; 
and, for a fact, sir, I never read editorials. Oh, 
I know it startles you, but you mustn't mind 
me. I'm peculiar about some things, I am." 



181 



SUNSET ON DIABLO. 



Diablo, mount with satanic name, 
Towering like sentinel across the fertile plain, 
Dazzles with splendor from the crimson light. 
Shed by Old Sol, while fading from our sight. 

As shining day turns to the solemn night, 
A beauteous scene is shed by fading light; 
A crimson flood bathes mountain top in flame, 
Reflects its silhouette across the plain. 

A vagrant cloud, now hanging o'er the crest. 
Turns from gray vapor to a jeweled nest, 
Fit for the goddess of eternal love. 
Could she be tempted from her home above. 

The shadows gather on mountain and on plain, 
A cooling breath is wafted from the main; 
The silvered river onward gently flows, 
While in the heavens shines the after glow. 

Shading from crimson to a dainty pink. 
The dying sunbeams slowly fade and sink; 
The stars gleam brightly in the azure sky — 
Another day has gone and said goodbye. 

182 



A DOUBLE SHUFFLE. 



A young couple in San Francisco braved 
paternal wrath, were married and ten hours later 
they were cold in death from self-inflicted 
wounds. Funerals are expensive, and generally 
speaking, undesirable afifairs, but if the burden 
of a decent burial is not too heavy for the near 
and dear relatives to discharge the obligation, 
without hardship, the action of the young people 
may be considered as commendable, for they de- 
parted this life in a rainbow-hued state of mind 
that can only be equalled by a parallel case. They 
wanted each other and the desire was accen- 
tuated by parental interference. They got each 
other and spited the old folks. Wrapped in each 
others arms they concluded to bid farewell to 
the cruel world and spend the years of eternity 
in the realms of paradise, and probably are now 
gamboling on the golden streets and cracking: 

188 



KODA;KS. 

castanets and jokes with St. Peter about the 
^way they "done" the old folks. It surprises me 
to know that young people, basking in the sun- 
shine of an overdose of thrills, should desire to 
shuffle of¥ at such an early stage of the game. If 
they had played an eight or ten years' engage- 
ment and taken a few youngsters through the 
category of infantile maladies and should be 
brought to a realization that the end was not yet, 
a tragedic finale would be considered a profitable 
swap for probable calamities. But the deed is 
done and one couple, at least, are spared the 
mortification of finding out, sooner or later, that 
neither is infallible, and both are mortal. 



184 



AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A SPINNING WHEEL 



I've spun many a mile of yarn, 
That's been woven into clothes, 

Worn by people now in glory — 
At least I will so suppose. 

Now I'm asked to spin a story. 
And I don't quite like the task, 

For I'm old and gray from spinning, 
But I'll spin this for the last. 

Observe my sturdy frame of oak. 
And see — of three legs I can boast; 

These mean the holy trinity 

Of Father, Son and Holy Ghost. 

My wheel, like time, has not an end, 
And band that runs around its rim; 

18i 



KODAKS. 

Like life, is bound to snap in twain 
When age has worn it old and thin. 

Now, let me speak about my head. 

You see that it is lined with steel, 
And, like the crank of modern times, 

Within it runs a little wheel. 



My head of steel, my heart of oak. 
My wheel, that never knew an end. 

Have been in service all my life — 
I've always been a faithful friend. 

I've seen the roses fade from cheeks 

For many generations past ; 
Seen sorrow's cup drained to the dregs ; 

Seen happiness too great to last. 

To think of what I've seen and heard 

Unstrings me — makes me pause and reel. 

For after all, I'm nothing else 

But an old-fashioned spinning wheel. 



186 



HISTORIC SETTLERS. 



The year 1895 will be remembered long as the 
year in which so many aged citizens were report- 
ed as living in various portions of the country. 
Not wishing to be thought ignorant on the lo- 
cation and affidavit age of at least one of the old 
boys, I have made careful search in the country 
adjacent to Stockton and have discovered a man 
who remembers perfectly the time Columbus lo- 
cated Chicago and appointed George Washing- 
ton as consul of same, to hold in trust for Pull- 
man, W'ho would not be over until his yotmgest 
son, who was rather a delicate child, got through 
teething. One thing in particular that vividly 
impressed the scene on his mind was Chris 
joshing George about the propensity of the 
Americans of that period to baldheadedness, and 
George, standing up bravely for the climate and 
laving the blame on the inhabitants. 



187 



A MEMORY. 



Through the haze of recollection 
Comes the scent of clover bloom, 

Wafted from a grassy meadow 
In the pleasant days of June. 

And an old red house that nestled 

In a grove of maple trees — 
Seems as though I hear them waving 

In the perfume-laden breeze. 

And a lilac bush that shaded 
One end of the quaint old house, 

I can see the dewdrops sparkling 
On the blossom-laden boughs. 

Then those sweet old-fashioned flowers- 
Verbenas, tulips, geraniums, flox — 

188 



KODAKS. 

Growing in such wild profusion 
'Round the borders of the walks. 

Bees are droning in the clover, 
And upon an old rail fence 

Is a little streaked chipmunk 
Scampering in his merriment. 

Birds are singing in the woodland, 
Where Jack-in-the-Pulpit blooms- 

Everything is joy and gladness 
In the pleasant days of June. 



189 



CURIOSITY. 



EHsha Gray, inventor of the teleautograph, 
asserts that "man is such an imperfect organism 
that it is difificult for him to comprehend even 
the simpler mysteries of nature." He also states 
that many things are happening all around him 
which he does not see or hear. I thoroughly 
concur with Lishe in all these statements, al- 
though our reasoning to arrive at the same con- 
elusion may vary a trifle. But what matters the 
method as long as the result is the same? How- 
ever, I go a trifle further than Elisha and say, 
Why should man fathom the mysteries of nature? 
Man, in his natural state, is an animal, with ani- 
mal instincts, and man, in his educated state, 
retains these instincts, which are the gratification 
of his five senses. If he is a barbarian and has 
vices extraordinary, his fellow-barbarians kill 
him; if he is civilized and has vices, they are 

190 



KODAKS. 

glossed over by the polish of education, and he 
is not only tolerated but courted. A brain that 
could retain a knowledge of one per cent, of the 
sayings and doings of the world has never been 
cast, and if it should ever be cast, the owner' 
thereof could never hope to live long enough 
for the shifting scene to pass before him. Hence 
why should nature, that struggled along for 
countless centuries without the aid of man, be 
asked to yield her secrets to his vulgar curiosity? 
If permitted to understand even an iota of 
nature's methods, he would attempt to remodel 
them according to his own ideas. Then why 
not abandon the idea and content himself with 
preying on his fellow-creatures, one upon the 
other, and reserving nature for a playground — a 
something to be admired and enjoyed, but hot to 
be pried into, for many a casket supposed to hold 
priceless treasures has, when broken into, been 
found to contain nothing but a skeleton? Elisha's 
remark about not seeing and hearing a great 
many ch'ings that are around him is very true. 
Think of a man trying to cross a street with a 
cable-car coming from each direction, a half 
dozen wagons jogging along at dififerent speeds, 
ii Salvation Army band playing on the corner, 
and a few other rackets, endeavoring to see and 



191 



KODAKS. 

hear all that was going on. Yes, and think of one 
who would want to see and hear it all. If you 
know of such a one, buy and send him to Lishe, 
to practice on, thereby endearing yourself to 
Elisha ; also endearing yourself to the individual's 
neighbors, who certainly should be pleased to be 
rid of a man having a patent right on so much 
curiosity. 



19S, 



A MOOD. 



When winds of winter whistle round the eaves, 
While raindrops splash against the window 
panes, 

Who does not not love to sit by cosy fire. 
With fancy running riot with loose reins? 



The panorama of the world is shown to view — 
The forms of all the continents of earth, 

With waves of ocean frothing at their sides, 
And sparkling rivers that entwine their girth. 



Great caps of snow in land of midnight sun. 
Streaked with reflections of Borealis' gleam. 

Where squatty Esquimaux, in huts of ice, 

Are happy with their own cold storage scheme. 

193 



KODAKS. 

Xand of the tropics, where the orb of day 
Beats down with sensuous and torrid glare 

On jungles, where the vegetation rank 

For beast and serpent forms a welcome lair. 

Islands of all nations, dotted here and there, 
Cropping from out the mass of billowing blue 

Xike specks — or, rather, any hills of the sea — 
Each showing some new phase or hue. 

Between the great extremes of heat and cold. 

In setting of the stage of real life, 
■Some sections teeming with the fruits of peace 

And others struggling with want and strife. 

This is the spot where longest fancy lingers ; 

For here are puppets that the mind can call 
Who for a time have place in public note 

Ere wealth or wisdom totters and they fall. 



Xach city, reeking with its load of life, 

Who tread their way beneath its lofty spires, 

•Comes for an instant to the eye of mind 

Their views, their hopes, and still unfilled 
desires. 



KODAKS. 

The ocean steamers battling" with storm-tossed 
sea, 

The railroad tracks like cobwebs o'er the land. 
With birds of passage flitting here and there. 

Whose lives are in the hollow of God's hand. 



Brought closely to the eye, the scene reveals 
Each mortal struggling for self alone — 

No matter what the color, garb or calling. 
Without respect to any rule or zone. 



This is the world, and this is life, 

Viewed at a glance in retrospective mood. 

If any doubt they toil for self alone 

'Tis self alone they have misunderstood. 



195 



A MELODY OF LONG AGO. 



There's a dear old peal of melody ^ 

Still ringing in my ears, 
Though time has rolled into the past 

More than a score of years. 

The strain brings back to memory 

A wide, clear, rippling stream; 
On its grassy bank I loved to lay 

And watch the clouds and dream. 

Great masses of white went sailing by 

O'er the canopy of azure hue. 
Jostling together, then drifting apart. 

Like leaving old friends for new. 

The air was scented with dainty perfume 

From wild flowers in shady dell, 
While borne on the breath of a summer breeze 

Was the sound of the village bells. 

196 



KODAKS. 

Clanging away in the distant spires, 
Large ones and small ones and all, 

The rich, the poor, the outcast and beggar 
To the worship of God they call. 

But distance softened the brazen clang, 
And when it had reached my ears 

An anthem of praise was graven therein 
That has lasted all these years. 

I've heard the hymns of eternal praise, 
With accompaniment of organ grand; 

Have heard the airs of our nation free 
Rendered by world-wide famous band — 

Have listened to singers of great renown, 
When tears to my eyes would well — 

But sweeter by far was the summer morn, 
With the chime of the village bells. 



197 



PHILOSOPHY. 



The "Nothing-too-tough-to-tackle" Debating- 
Society at their last session wrestled with the 
question, "Is a philosopher a necessary evil?" 
No verdict was reached, as most of the members 
claimed to lack knowledge of the requisites for a 
full-fledged philosopher of the modern era. 
Those who had the affirmative side had compiled 
their informaton from the life of Socrates and a 
few of those pioneers who persisted that a wagon 
wheel could travel on smooth ground as well as 
in a rut, and were ruled out of order as being a 
long way behind the times. The sustainers of the 
negative theory were willing to admit that a gen- 
uine, simon-pure philosopher would be a handy 
thing to have in the comrnunity, but asserted that 
there hadn't been but one born during the last 
century; that he was apprenticed to a clergyman 
and expired in convulsions when he discovered 
the actual limit of his philosophications. 

Mr. Talkary, in the course of his remarks, 
said : "The trouble with the average philosopher 

198 



KODAKS. 

of this era is that he possesses peculiarities and 
insists on certain regularities of habit that are 
not compatible with philosophy. It is no trick 
at all for a well-fed, well-clothed man to specify 
a plan whereby men and women could be com- 
fortable and happy. He has a supreme contempt 
for the sentimental idiosyncrasies of humanity in 
general; sometimes because he does not pos- 
sess a spot in his heart and soul that is suscepti- 
ble to color, but more often because he has a 
surfeit of pleasures. Age is a great promoter of 
philosophy, so it is not proper for a man to claim 
as a virtue something that is simply a non-desire. 
Your true philosopher is the one who, with his 
belly sticking to his back from lack of food, his 
shoulder-blades and knees cropping out of tat- 
tered garments, whose vitality is sapped by dis- 
ease and whose heart is aching for just a few 
loving words of comfort, stretches out his hands 
and tells his hearers that while life seems to be a 
troubled sea it is in reality a haven of beauteous 
rest; that if happiness were placed in one scale 
and sorrow in the other there could be no doubt 
of happiness being the dominating force. That 
is philosophy, and an expounder of such philos- 
ophy would leave a name to be remembered long, 
and a lesson that would be remembered not 
at all." 

199 



POMPOSITY'S SOLILOQUY IN THE GRAVEYARD. 



An old-time friend of Pomposity's went the 
way of all flesh, and a mutual friend asked him if 
he was going to attend the funeral, "No, sir; not 
much. I will not go to a funeral. It's bad 
enough for me to know that some time I have got 
to go to my own, and I don't want to be reminded 
of it and made blue by uncanny thoughts of the 
tomb, let alone the possible evils of futurity. And 
there's another thing, too. I can't go out to the 
cemetery without getting mad — madder than 
blazes. I walk through the city of the dead and 
see a nice tombstone over a man who owed me 
seven hundred dollars. Over there a monument 
— the son-of-a-gun under it skipped out for the 
hereafter and I held his paper for two thousand, 
Down yonder a vault; the marble clay that re- 
poses within left me mourning to the tune of 
thirty-five hundred; and so on. I think I've got 

300 



about thirty or forty thousand dollars reposing- 
under the daisies, and I tell you what, I'm not 
going to arouse my ire so that it will compel mc 
to journey into the next world to try and collect 
tkat money." 



an 



THE LANE OF LIFE. 

Canto the First. 

A babe, first seeing light of day. 

Makes lusty clamor at the sight and scene — 
Mourns till cradled in a mother's arms, 

When clothed and nursed it slumbers all se- 
rene. 

No will of self did ever give it birth. 

'Twas but a turn of fortune's wheel 
That gave it life and lungs and hunger 

And dormant passion it must sometime feel. 

From swaddling clothes and crawling on the 
floor 

It reaches kilts and a desire to walk. 
Finding encouragement in these old arts, 

Soon it has learned to pout and talk. 

202 



KODAKS. 

A kindergarten gives the rudiments, 

When kilts are changed for knickers, and the 
joy ■ , 

Is seen displayed in the new garb — 

The baby now has grown to be a boy. 

A boy who goes to school and everywhere 
That every other boy has gone before ; 

Who learns to whistle, dance and swear — 
Who never has too much to ask for more. 



He fancies baseball, boating, guns. 

Of course, he has to have a bike. 
And almost every game that's known 

He has a penchant for and likes. 

His boyish troubles vanish like the mist 

That hovers o'er the meadow in the morn,-^^ 

He may be angry, but he cannot make it last 
No more than he could help his being born. 

From school to college. The momentous step 
Changes the tenor of his heart and frame ; 

He longs for knowledge and for power : ^^ ' 
Upon the scroll of fame to carve his'-nanne. 

203 



KODAKS. 

Sonae damsel fair now mingles with his dreams — 
A creature whom he loves and longs to wed — 

She worries him throughout the livelong day ; 
AH other thoughts are driven from his head. 

S^e must be his. He'd roam the world 

To lay its treasures at her feet, 
0nly his bright collegiate course 

Lacks some two years of being quite complete. 

These are the days when lagging time 
Is thorn that pierces deep his side, 

Though he will learn ere many years 
How fast the days can by him glide. 

Those college days, those golden hours, 
When he has thought the road so wide, 

With friends drawn up in double tiers 
To do him honor as a nation's pride — 

They pass away and seem a dream, 
When looking backward he has read 

The funeral of his hopes and loves 
And of the girl he didn't wed. 

He carves his way like other men 
In some allotted walk of life, 

. 2 + . 



KODAK*. 

Where business ventures cool his blood 
By keeping him in constant strife. 

He's found another girl who fits 
A place within his heart and soul — 

Who spurs him on to brilliant deeds, 
Helps him to win his fame and goal. 

TJhus he has blindly paved the way 

For sorrow that must come to all 
Who make an idol of the clay 

That must make answer when tl^e Master ca^ 

He's gathered cares that haunt and jeer 
Or grimace while his feet they trip; 

That gloat with joy when some loved cup 
Slips from his grasp when almost to his lip. 

He's past his prime. The downward path 

That leads, as all roads lead — to death- 
Lies straight ahead. He cannot swerve, 
Nor can he. call one wasted breath. 

He sees his hopes fade one by one. 
Though here and there a flashing ray 

Just for a moment lights his path, f 

And seems the Ruler's hand to stay, iM 



KODAKS. 



The struggles o'er, he knows the worst — 
Knows that his work on earth is done ; 

Learns that the time has come to die 
When love of life has just begun. 



Could he but start in life anew, 

With knowledge gained and stored away, 
What power he'd have to beck and call 

To hold the world and make it sway. 



Such strange, wild longings fill his heart, 
That from his fate he fain would flee, 

But, failing there, turns to the One 
Who gave him life with its decree. 



Darker and darker grow the days, 
The pride to rule or ruin wanes, 

Tiii kindly spirits calm his woes 
And soothe the rancor in his veins. 



The calm of peace steals o'er his brow ; 

His wrinkled hands have idle grown- 
Never again will passion thrill. 

For God has called his spirit home. 

206. 



KODAKS. 
Canto the Second. 

The power that rules this universe, 
That placed man in His image here, 

Has method, born of judgment rare. 

Which guides his step from cradle to the bier. 

He places follies where they'll tempt. 

Yet form a guard to point the way 
So none need falter at their task 

Or from the path be led astray. 

These guide-boards oft are lost to sight 

By man, who, hurrying to a goal. 
Forgets the light of love and day — 

Forgets he does not own his soul. 

A soul that's tortured, tempted, tried, 
In ways most hard to comprehend — 

Which knows its weakness all too well 
And many times will sway and bend. 

Some careful plan has come to naught; 

Courage has oozed from out his finger-tips ; 
Some cup of joy was dashed to earth 

When draught had all but passed his lips. 



i;ODAKS. 

What can he do? "Begin his life anew" 
Is what the looker-on would calmly say. 

Not counting what the loss has cost 

Or that the man, mayhap, has had his day. 

All have a day, and some have two or more — 
The hero royal never knows defeat; 

He'll trim his barque upon another course 
And, smiling, say, "The charm of life is sweet." 

He takes a pattern from the years that glide 
And finds a lesson in the shifting scene — 

The garb of spring, the summer's glow, 
The autumn harvest and the winter keen. 

No matter what one year has brought. 

Though it be scourged by pestilence and flame, 

A new one calmly takes its place. 

Leaving the old a simple page of fame. 

Pages of fame are sometimes pleasant tales 
Of those who rollicked on the crest of power — 

Those whom some stroke of fortune made 
The showy heroes of the passing hour. 

A ftew year is a scroll all pure and fair, 
Unmarred by deed of brain or brawa — 

at* 



KODAKS. 

A curtain rising like the sun, •■ 

Tinting the landscape with the rosy dawn. 

Showing a future all wide and unexplored, 
Waiting for man to scribe upon the page 

The deeds that proclaim for the hour 

The greatest hero and the greatest sage. 

More unknown heroes grace a silent tomb 

Than e'er found herald to proclaim their 
worth ; 

More unknown heroes walk the world to-day 
Than known ones hidden in the silent earth. 

Canto the Third. 

Grave Censor who proscribes the ways of life, 
From blade of grass to wisest of the seers, 

Has recourse oftentimes to subtle art 
To light a pathway or allay a fear. 

So guarded is the whispering voice. 

Almost unheard amongst the slumberinj;- 
bowers. 
That listener ensconced amidst the bloom 

Thinks 'tis a breeze but murmuring througfe 
the flowers. 



KODAKS. 

The rippling stream or mountain cataract 
That thunders through a dark ravine 

ZKnows naught of law, yea, has no care, 

So sparkles on with merry, joyous paean. 



Serene in ignorance of fate that waits 
Upon some dim and distant shore, 

"Where silvery rivers leaving wooded hills 
Are merged within the breakers' sullen roar. 



Yea, lost. Their life blood mingles with the tide ; 

Rolls in and out upon the yellow sands, 
Or mingles with some wayward current 

And strays to kiss the shores of other lands. 

Bright-hearted Sol, who warms the heart and 
soul, 

Peers down upon the ocean's foam, 
Plucks from the billow's emerald crest 

The shattered mist and claims it as his own. 



iong rays of light stream from the orb of fire, 
Spread like a fan of texture frail and fair; 

JBut each has set for it a task, 

And for the mist of ocean forms a stair, 

210, 



KODAiKS. 

Upward they climb, beyond the mountam top, 
Until they halt and form heroic stand, 

As though they feared the Heavenly power 
And dared not lose the sight of sea and land. 

Each day adds to their banded strength. 
Until at last their sinew seems so strong. 

They scorn the hand of Sol who holds them there 
And Avonder they have owned him King so 
long. 

The fleecy mass, nursed by the wraith of hate, 

Changes to sombre, dismal hue; 
Grim mutterings drown all peaceful overtures, 

While flashing satire pierces through and 
through. 

At war with selves, they reck not of their path ; 

In wild confusion flee from unknown foe, 
Till scattered on the earth they lie, 

Once more to swell a streamlet's cheery flow. 

Again they sparkle in the light of day — 
Again they bubble through the leafy dells, 

Knowing new joy at seeing olden scenes, 
Hearing again the sound of wedding bells. 

211 



KODAKi. 



Sweet dreamy chimes, pealing soft and low. 

Telling that life begins anew, 
Leading again through lush of woodland, 

Until once more they reach the ocean blue. 



•M& 



INDEX. 



My America --- ---.-5, 

Ideality .-_- 7 

Th« Gold Seekers - - . - . - - 9 
Fat Jack and Slim Jim - - - - - - 14 

WarTanted to Soothe a Disciple of Blackstone - 16 
Hereditary Taste _-._-_- 18 
Recrimination -------19 

The Trend of Wealth ------ 20 

California Dialect -------- 22 

An Abused Professional ----- 24 

Hankering --------26 

He Was Never Satisfied - - - - - - 29 

The Cipiiers - - 31 

Fin de Siecle Matrimony ----- 32 

The Silurian's Lament ----- 33 

Behind the M^sk -------34 

Selfishnesis -------- ;,5 

Politeness --------- ^6 

21S 



KO'DAKS. 

One Thing Done Well - - - - - - 37 

A Celesitial Virtue - - _ - - - 39 

Les Miserables __-._-- 4i 

Honor and Dishonor __---_ 43 

Biercing - - -- - - - - 45 

The Microbe of the Soul 47 

Liar -.-_---_. 49 

Still an. Bliigma ___---> 55 

Respect Poverty — It Might Change - - - 57 

An Old Story .-----_ 60 

To Be a Sage Requires Old Age - - - 62 

They Never Change ______ 64 

Fancy Helps Many a Cause - - - - 67 

Our Flag and Country ----- 74 

A Modern Plague _-_.__ 78 

Strike an Average - - - - - - 81 

Ko Ping Ki Ti (Hatchet Mian) - - - . 83 

Slim Jim's Lament ______ 84 

The Penalty of Oid Age - - - - - 87 

Pigeon Holes -------89 

Nectar for Kings ______ 91 

Time Only Has No End - - - , - - 95 

Big Bug - - - - - - - - 96 

Romance -_--__-_ 98 

A Few Directions - - . - _ - 100 

The Selfish Suns - -,.-._- 101 

Maternal Love - - - - - - - 103 

214 



KODAKS. 

Jesf Nobody ----- _ - 1(>5- 

Cute, but Ttoublesome - — - - los 

The Soul -------- lOT 

Life --------- - 10» 

Poet and Philosopher - - - - - - 111 

Made in Grod's Imag'e - - - - - 112 

Misguided Energy ------ 115 

Past and Present _--__-- iig. 

Wonderful --_-_--- 119 

A Feminine Habit - - - - - - 12S 

Creation - - - - - -- - - 124 

Just Life, That's All - - . ' - - - 125 

Fate of the Soul - 128 

Hope - - - - 131 

Cleansing Fires ------- 138, 

To Whom It May Concern - - - - 135 

Twilight -------- I06 

Ante Slumber Soliloquies - - _ _ - 137 

As Life Goes - - - - - - - - 138 

A Tramp Philosopher ----- 139 

Grand Opera . - * _ - - - 141 

An Ever Present Show _ - - - - 14& 

Life's Day -------- 151 

A Libel - - - 15S 

A Vagary - - - - - - -'- 155 

Origin of a Minister .-__-- 157 

A Back Number Dude _ - - _ _ 158. 

2115 



jEtnvironimeat .-_.--- igf 

IrwJependenc* Day ------ 162 

If the Shoe Fita, Wear it - - - - - 167 

Baddy's HomQ ----- - I7f 

Egotism - - - - -- - - 172 

While It Raifl* ------- 17* 

Kvoiution -_--._-- 175 

Hi« Honor - - 177 

Honesty -------- ig© 

One of Maay -_--._- i8i 

-Sunset on Diablo ------ 182 

A Double Shuffle 183 

Autobiography of a Spinniag Wheel - - 185 

Historic Settlers - 187 

A Memory -------- 18S 

■Curiosity _---__-- 190 

A Mood --- 19S 

A Melody of Long Ago ----- 196 

Philosophy -------- 198 

Pomposity's Soliloquy in the G^raveyard - - 20© 

The Lane of Life - - - - - - - 2©2 



ns 



Jan - 12 1901 






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